


Sherlock Holmes and the Ginger Enigma

by a_dale



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angels Take Manhattan never happened, Crossover, Definitely AU, F/M, Rory and Amy divorced, maybe a little angst?, mostly fluffly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1861314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dale/pseuds/a_dale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia Pond has been pulled out of the TARDIS and dropped in London, only to run into the worlds only consulting detective and his companion blogger. What she didn't expect was for Sherlock to remind her of the Doctor she's waiting for, and Sherlock had never imagined he would meet someone who could draw him in as much as Amelia Pond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to London, Amelia Pond

It was four years after Sherlock had jumped, four years after Moriarty had put a bullet in his head, and a year after Sherlock had returned, having hunted down every single one of Moriarty's sharpshooters in his three year absence so they could no longer be a threat to the very few people he cared about. The world had accepted Sherlock's return because John and Lestrade had spent the three years of his absence proving that he hadn't been a fake, a task Sherlock was truly amazed they'd taken on, and even more astounded that they'd succeeded. Everything was as it had been, they were once again living at 221B baker street, once again acting as consulting detective and companion blogger. They were on a case, heading back to their flat on Baker street when they heard the crash of something falling in an empty alley they'd just passed. Sherlock was prepared to ignore it, but then came a female cry, and John, the eternal hero he was, couldn't ignore it.  
“Sherlock! Wait just a moment.” he said, putting up his hands in the sign to wait. Then before Sherlock could protest, he was off, running back towards the alley.

Amelia Pond fell to the ground with a loud and painful crash, the breath rushing out of her lungs. She clambered to her feet but immediately fell against the wall, head spinning dizzily. She could still hear the Doctor shouting her name, the TARDIS console room shooting sparks, but she had no idea what was happening or why she was here on the street instead of there with him. She was dressed in boots that climbed to mid-calf, sheer tights, a mini-skirt, a long navy coat, and a very long, very bright red knit scarf that matched her long sleeved shirt. She wrapped the scarf around her neck again, shivering from the cold, and from the next wave of dizziness that hit her.  
“Y'all right there miss?” came a voice, and she jumped with a startled shout, looking around only to realize she was in an alley, and it was late.  
“Fine. M'fine.” she said with an easy smile, slowly skirting along the wall and away from the man she didn't know. Before she got far, she heard another voice shout out.  
“Sherlock! Wait just a moment.” Then a short, worried looking man appeared at the end of the alley.  
“Everything alright?” he asked in a friendly, if not authoritative voice. Not a copper, Amy could tell, but authoritative all the same. The first man just nodded and slunk off, and the short, blonde, middle aged man took a tentative step closer to where Amy stood. “My name's John, just so you know, John Watson. heard the crash when we were passing by, though I didn't see you on the first pass.” he told her easily, and she just nodded, continuing to walk along the wall towards the end of the alley. “You sure you're alright?” he asked, but again she just nodded.   
“Fine, thanks.” she said, scottish accent ringing out and surprising him. She rubbed the back of her head as if she'd hit it and John found himself checking for signs of blood. “Um, would you mind tellin' me just where we are?” she asked John with the friendly eyes and he gave a frown.  
“Corner of Adelaide and Primrose Hill.” he told her with that same frown, taking another step forward, offering a helping hand. Not believing what she'd heard, she gave an embarrassed smile that had John stopping and giving a tentative smile in return. “Right, thanks, but um, do you mean to say we're in London?” he gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head with the hand he'd extended, glancing back to see Sherlock coming down the road towards the alley, customary scowl in place.  
“Yes, we are most definitely in London.” he informed her, and she gave an almost relieved laugh. “How did you get here?”  
“Oh you know, just popped in.” she said with a wave at the sky. “That's great, though.” she drawled in her scottish accent. “I know a bit of London. The Doctor will definitely find me if I'm here. Gotta run.” was all she said before taking off, head still spinning but wanting to find her friend she knew to live in London so she could settle down to wait for her Doctor. She dashed around the corner and nearly ran into a tall, imposing figure with dark curly locks and pale calculating eyes. “Sorry.” was all she said as he steadied her before running off, loose fiery curls bouncing as she sprinted away in the mini skirt.  
Sherlock watched her go with a frown – a clearly beautiful, clearly youthful woman with ginger hair and green eyes that had locked on his with no fear and only the hint of surprise most had when they bumped into a stranger in the middle of the night.  
“Who was she?” Sherlock asked, turning back to John who stepped out of the alley, scratching the back of his head with a look of confusion plastered on his face.  
“Dunno really. Seems a bit lost if you ask me. Didn't seem to know we were in London!” he said in surprise. “Then she was off. Said something about a doctor.” Looking at a loss, John dropped his hand with a shrug. “Lets be off then. Sherlock?”  
“Hmm?” Sherlock turned back, having tuned out John's words as he stared after the ginger woman in the mini skirt; she'd surprised him, and not from running into him, but because he hadn't been able to see as much in her as he usually saw in people. There was something missing. Secrets. He frowned again, starting off again towards the flat he and John shared, unable to shake the image of the ginger from his mind. She was a mystery, the first human mystery he'd come across in a long time, since Irene Adler and then since... Him. He shook the dark memory of that man from his thoughts, returning his concentration to the woman. She was still a mystery, and mysteries always intrigued him.

Amy stopped running only when her sides were burning and she bent over, hands on her knees to catch her breath. Then she hailed a cab, giving them the flat number of her old friend Lucy Pengrast. She needed to find her Doctor, or rather, he needed to find her, but for some reason a strange pair of pale blue eyes shadowed by dark curls kept creeping into her thoughts as the cab rushed down the road. She let out a huffed breath. John Watson, the one man had introduced himself as, and the first thing she'd heard him say was - Sherlock? She rolled the name around in her thoughts. It was a strange name, not that she could say much since she travelled with a man who went only by “The Doctor” but it was strange none the less. She wondered briefly what they'd been doing out at what was obviously a late hour, but once again she just grinned to herself. Probably out having an adventure, she thought wistfully, and how she was already missing her own.


	2. Second Meeting

It had been a month since she'd fallen out of the TARDIS and into the alleyway that led to her strange meeting with John Watson and his strange companion Sherlock, and Amy was beginning to feel nervous about the length of her wait. She'd gotten a job in a lovely candy shop within walking distance of the flat she now shared with Lucy and to make up for the impromptu takeover of half the flat, she'd offered to help pay the rent and do half the groceries. Of course Lucy had agreed, though the bartender spent quite a bit of time at work during the times Amy was actual home, so Amy often had the space to herself. Not that she minded. It would be easier to leave a note to explain her departure than if a blue box appeared while Lucy was home. Yet for some reason, she was feeling more and more nervous about the Doctor reappearing. A month was a long time to be left stranded, and it was making her anxious and almost a bit afraid – afraid that once again the five minutes would turn into twelve more years of her life, or the two more she'd had to wait after that. More years wasted on fairytales, but this time she wouldn't have Rory because she'd never have him again. Hadn't since she'd given him up. She shook the thought off, green eyes focusing once more on the candy shop she worked in. With practiced ease, she locked up the till before going around and flipping off the lights. It was twenty passed nine when Amy finally finished closing up shop, and was glad that she wouldn't have to work the next day. She was planning on taking a quick jaunt down to the centre, get some chips and a new coat. Hers wasn't really suited for winter, and more often than not she found herself running to keep warm. Enough was enough, she needed a proper coat.   
Locking the door behind her, she licked the ice cream cone she'd helped herself too that evening, ignoring the fact that the snow crunching under foot was usually a sign that it was to cold for ice cream. She'd tucked the key in her pocket, turning to head back to her flat when she saw them; the two men from the night she'd arrived. There was the short, blonde man wearing a hideous and yet amusing jumper who'd called himself – what was it? John Watson, she reminded herself, and then the tall one with the cutting cheekbones and sharp eyes. Sherlock – the strange name for some reason seemed to suit him from what she could see of his appearance. There was something unruly about him, and it wasn't just the curly black locks that seemed to be constantly on the verge of falling in his face. It reminded her strangely of the Doctor and his floppy hair, though this man was much sharper in appearance, much colder than her cheerful Doctor. As if feeling her gaze, the taller man, Sherlock, she reminded, turned his head, eyes locking with hers. She gave a small smile and a wave before turning away to head down the street, a bit embarrassed that she'd been caught staring, going back to her ice cream. It was then that she heard the shout behind her. She looked back curiously to see John Watson exit the restaurant, clearly calling to her, and unable to ignore him now, she stopped, waiting as he ran over to her, the taller man having followed him out but staying by the restaurant.  
“John Watson, isn't it?” she asked in a friendly tone, enjoying another lick of her ice cream, and John smiled, gratified that such a beautiful woman had remembered his name.   
“Yes, quite right. That's me. And you're the girl – the one who appeared out of no where.”  
“That's me.” she said with a cheerful smile, looking over his shoulder at his tall friend who just stood watching them with a frown creasing his features.  
“Is your friend ever going to come say hullo or is this his way of letting you make friends while he gets used to being back from his stint away?” Surprised, John glanced back at Sherlock, wondering what the beautiful ginger meant, so he asked.  
“Stint away?”  
“Don't tell me I'm wrong. I've got a knack for people, comes from travelling with the Doctor I think. You've got that friendly air about you that just screams either doctor or police officer, but I don't think you're an officer since you didn't say so when we first met. Doctor makes sense cause you kept checking to see if my head was injured, I can tell cause the Doctor always gets that look about him when he wants to see if I'm injured without making it look like he's looking.” John just blinked as the woman rambled, though he was surprised by how accurate she was. “But on the other hand, you stand like a soldier – I'd know, I married one.” there was a flicker of something like sadness across her face before she grinned and John had the good sense to check her hands, finding no rings on either. “Right so I'm going to say soldier. And Mr. Tall and broody over there seems to look like he's worried about you, which seems a bit off since he seems the cold and distant type, which means it must have been recent, or he wouldn't be worried. He's worried maybe you'll leave. Running towards you before you can fade from him.” That last phrase was said in an almost pained voice, before she grew cheerful again. “Am I right?” she grinned and the expression seemed to light up the street. John could only stare, glancing back at Sherlock and trying to show with a glance that he should come over. Yet even as the taller man started forward, Amy was backing away, taking the last lick of her ice cream before tossing it in a bin. “Got to head back though, getting late and promised the flat mate I'd record a show on the telly for her.”  
“Wait, what's your name?” John called even as she started off, and she tossed him a smile over her shoulder though she didn't stop. For some reason the tall and moody looking Sherlock made her as nervous as she was curious, and she wanted to be fully prepared before she faced this man who reminded her of her Doctor.   
“Amy. Amy Pond.”  
Sherlock reached John even as the bright haired woman called her name back over her shoulder. John was staring in obvious disbelief of something and Sherlock couldn't help but frown at the sight of his companion so thrown.   
“Everything alright John?”  
“She knew I was a doctor. And a soldier. And she knew you'd been gone.” was all he said, staring after her with an open mouth, and Sherlock just blinked in surprise. Who was this mystery girl? He watched her go, wearing a mini skirt just as she had been when she'd bumped into him that first night, and having just eaten an ice cream even in the icy weather. Still staring, he tried to deduce what he could of her once more. She was mid to late twenties, clearly a traveller, not native to London but not having lived her whole life in Scotland either – she had the accent and yet it was tainted with a slight english lilt so she'd moved to England when she was young. She had, or at least had recently had, a romantic attachment to somebody, and she was clearly waiting for someone, it was obvious by how alert she was, how ready she seemed as if at any moment that certain someone would show up. Yet they'd first bumped into her a month ago, and from what John had recounted, she'd arrived that day. He found it strange that she had that same alert look that spoke of waiting even after a months time, but what else could he see? There was something there, something he was missing, but he wasn't quite sure what it was, or if he was really missing anything. Maybe it was because he couldn't see what he was missing, but knew there was more to her. He gave a frustrated huff, drawing John's attention to him.  
“Amelia Pond.” Was all Sherlock said, and though John knew she'd only introduced herself as Amy, he didn't bother asking how the other man knew, he'd just tell him it was obvious. With an amused shake of his head, John headed back towards the restaurant, and after a moment Sherlock followed him, unable to shake the puzzle of the ginger haired Amelia Pond.


	3. Cheekbones

It was her day off, and she'd used it well. Her new tweed coat sat warmly around her shoulder (she'd been unable to resist when she'd seen it in the window, she missed the Doctor terribly), and she'd even bought herself some gloves, a hat (which was red but definitely not a fez), and a mobile. The phone was a splurge and she new it, but she'd been borrowing Lucy's for the past month and wanted one of her own since obviously the last one she'd had was still back on the TARDIS. The thought sent an ache through her but she ignored it, her Doctor was coming. He always came back for her, his Pond. On the taxi ride home she passed right by the shop and as a result, by the spot she'd once more come face to face with John and Sherlock. She'd managed to go most of the day without thinking of the strange pair, but now her curiosity was back with full force and the moment she stepped in she booted up her flatmates laptop. She'd only had to type John before a list of Lucy's bookmarks popped up and she found the personal blog of a Dr. John Watson among them. So she'd been right, she thought with a grin. He really was a doctor. She barely had a chance to gloat before she was sucked into the words on the screen. She started at the first entry and worked her way towards present day, but when she glanced at the clock and it read three in the morning and she still hadn't reached the most recent post she gave up, flopping into bed with an exhausted groan and falling asleep within minutes. She was no longer just curious about the pair, she was fascinated – particularly with Sherlock, he really did remind her a lot of the Doctor.

***

The next day she was late for work for the first time thanks to her late night reading, and she found herself sprinting down the streets of London, dashing around corners and dodging other pedestrians, orange curls flying along with the ends of her bright red scarf. Of course, at the speed she was going, she didn't notice the imposing figure of Sherlock until it was too late. Once again she found herself crashing into him, and once again was steadied by the slim but strong hands.   
“This seems to be a habit of yours Miss Pond, running into people.”  
In response to his cool tone, Amy let out a bark of bright laughter, followed by a sound of amused disgust.   
“Miss Pond. I don't think anyone's called me that since I was last scolded by my school teacher.” she said with a shake of her head. “Call me Amy.”  
“Why don't you like Amelia?” She blinked in surprise before she was grinning again. “I suppose it sounds a bit fairytale, but aren't women supposed to like that?” he asked in a bored voice, and once again she laughed.   
“That's exactly why I changed it.”  
“To appear outside of societal norms?” he asked, still sounding bored, though she could tell by the way his eyes seemed to scan her face told her he wasn't, not all together anyways. Yes, she recognized that look, that dissecting look, though the Doctor always made it appear much more like friendly curiosity than a dissection.   
“No.” was all she said with a cheeky smile, but when he expected her to elaborate, her smile just widened. “When most people give you their names, they expect one in return.” she informed him, changing the topic without giving him the full answer he'd found himself wanting, and he just offered her his hand.  
“Sherlock Holmes, though you already know that.”  
Again, rather than be offended by the fact that he seemed to know her response before she gave it, she grinned, and Sherlock found it odd. Most people were uncomfortable with him around, but she seemed completely at ease, flirtatious even.   
“I do, found Dr. Watson's blog, interesting stuff that is, but introductions are polite.” Then she glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist and gave a groan of dismay. “Now I'm really late. Must dash.” and just like that she was off again, leaving him staring after her. Glancing at his mobile, he realized that he too was now late thanks to the little encounter, but though he scowled, he was curious enough about her he didn't really mind. 

Once again, Amy hardly had to wait a day before one of the two companions showed up in the candy store.   
“Hullo Dr. Watson.” she greeted cheerfully, and he just gave a sheepish smile.   
“John, please.”   
“Hullo John.” she corrected, her grin widening as seemed usual for the cheerful woman, and John just wandered around the store while she reorganized a display. “What can I do for you, John?” she asked and he just turned with an almost embarrassed smile.   
“Well – um – you see;”  
“Did Sherlock send you to interrogate me?” she asked with a bright laugh, and the embarrassed smile turned sheepish.  
“Not in so many words.” he admitted, and Amy laughed again.   
“I see. Well in that case,” she paused as she looked around the store and then handed John a small bag with one of the fresh shortbread cookies.   
“What's this for?” he asked in surprise and she grinned once again.  
“For being brave enough to come interrogate me.” she said with a wink, “And everyone likes shortbread.” his cheeks flooded with colour but he bit into the cookie before giving her a surprised smile.   
“Quite good, this.”  
“Should be. I convinced Mrs. Johnson to let me try my hand at baking them.” Amy announced proudly. She'd never really boasted about cooking before, but over the years she hadn't really had reason to boast about the fact that she'd cooked her own meals for a long, long time. She slid behind the counter and waved John after her, pulling him out an extra stool before hopping back onto her own behind the register. “So what can I do for you, John?” she repeated with that same friendly smile that John could only return.   
“Well, for one, where exactly did you come from? I remember passing by that alley only seconds before the crash, and there'd been no one there. Sherlock was adamant about it.”  
“And of course Sherlock notices everything.” she stated, clearly amused, oh he was so much like her Doctor, and it almost hurt.  
John laughed for the first time and Amy found it a pleasant sound.  
“He's a bit of a twat about it if you ask me, but yes he doesn't seem to miss a beat, Sherlock. And seeing as that's the case, how did you get to the alley?”  
“Told ya, I dropped in.” her voice was cheerful and his brows drew together in a frown though he continued to smile. The bell above the door jangled just before a deep voice cut into their conversation.  
“She means it quite literally, John. Seems she really did fall and injure her head.” the tone was almost condescending, and Amy lifted a superior brow, turning to Sherlock with a superior smile of her own.  
“Is that so, cheekbones?” John nearly choked on his cookie as he tried not to laugh and Sherlock glared at him but Amy just kept on. “You're one to talk about a fall.” she said easily, surprising both men, making them both pale. “But last I checked, I was quite sane, though my 4 psychiatrists might argue that.”  
“What happened to them all? Since they clearly are no longer in your service.”  
“I was only a child mind you, but I bit them. They told me what I knew to be true, wasn't.”  
Taken aback by her bluntness, Sherlock just glanced around the candy shop and away from the woman he couldn't quite make sense of in front of him. It had happened once before, this inability to make sense of a woman, but with her, Irene Adler had been her name, it had been all cloak and dagger; this woman, this Amelia Pond, wore her heart on her sleeve and yet he still couldn't see all of her.  
“I must say, it was a waste of your parents money. You clearly have more sense than most.”  
Amy preened under the compliment.  
“Why thank you Mr. Holmes.” she said in that same flirty voice of hers she seemed to use as default. “But it was my aunt who hired them, not my parents.”  
“Why?” he asked, but before she could answer, he answer for her. “Ah, yes, I see. You don't know. You're parents disappeared. Sort of odd isn't it? Parents disappearing. It wasn't abandonment, they literally just disappeared one day.”  
“Sherlock.” John reprimanded with the two syllables of his name, but Amy just smiled, patting John's hand.  
“It's alright John, he's just showing off. I don't mind. He's upset I mentioned the stint off the building. Quite clever that, but I must say you aren't the first man I've known to brilliantly fake his death so it wasn't much of a surprise since I've seen the Doctor do it. Anyhow, something'll come along and knock him down a peg or two.” she said confidently, her voice laughing at him. Sherlock scowled but before he could say anything a group of school children burst in. He was left to watch in silent amazement (which he hid of course) as Amelia (it sat a bit off calling her Amy) lit up as she came around the counter to serve them. She was a mother, he realized, but something there was off too and he wasn't quite sure what. Not wanting to disturb her anymore while she worked, John came back around and began herding Sherlock towards the door. Before they could disappear though Amy was calling out, scribbling on a piece of paper before handing it to John.   
“Just got this yesterday.” she said with a strange ring of pride. “If cheekbones here wants to send you to interrogate me again you can just call and we'll have tea. Much easier that, than trying to ambush me at work.” It was a small reprimand, and all three of them knew it was aimed at Sherlock, but she said it with a smile, giving John a small box of the cookies this time. “For your trouble.” she said easily, forcing it into his hands, and then she was back to work, glad she'd managed to pawn off the cookies so she wouldn't have to take them all home, but she didn't admit that. She was thrilled that she'd managed to throw off the great Sherlock Holmes, a title she'd taken from John's blog, and knew that was a prize of its own.


	4. The Ginger Enigma

Sherlock lay sprawled across the couch, glaring at the ceiling, a ginger haired woman spinning around his thoughts. What was it about her that he couldn't see? He wondered irritably, and conjured up the image of her from earlier that day in his minds eye. Tall, lovely long legs that managed to look good in the mini skirts that made up her wardrobe despite her age, a beautiful and nearly blinding smile, and that bright mane of hair. His mind nearly stuttered as he realized what he was doing; appraising her physical qualities, and he found himself nearly appalled. Was he attracted to this strange woman? He wondered, and the answer was easily a yes. A yes he was most definitely not satisfied with. Irritated, he leapt off the couch and snatched his violin off the desk, immediately launching into a quick, angry melody that had John popping his head in from the kitchen.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, and Sherlock turned with a glare, violin still moving with the furious rhythm.

“The enigma of Amelia Pond.” he growled, and John seemed to brighten up at that.

“That's good! That's quite good.” he appraised, heading for his laptop, and Sherlock found himself coming to a sudden halt in his music when John started typing.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock demanded, and John chuckled, not looking up.

“Blogging.” Sherlock bounded across the room to look over John's shoulder to see he was doing exactly what Sherlock had hoped he wouldn't do.

“'The Enigma of the Woman with the Fairytale Name?' bit of a mouthful, is it not?” Sherlock said, putting down the title in hopes that John would stop what he was doing. “Seems foolish to write about a woman you don't even know. Invasive.”  
John just gave a snort. “As if that's ever bothered you before.” Unable to disagree, Sherlock just stood and watched his companion type, wondering just what the woman in question would say when she read the entry, as she'd admitted to reading the blog the day before.

“Does it not bother you that she may read this?” Sherlock asked, though he wasn't sure why he persisted, and John shook his head.

“I think she'd probably find it rather amusing.” John informed the taller man, causing another scowl.

“Really John, it's completely unnecessary to blog about a woman you think intrigues me.” he said irritably, and for the first time John looks up.

“Admitting it now, are we?” John asked, and Sherlock's scowl only deepened.

“She doesn't make sense. I want to know why.”

“Perhaps you should find that doctor she's always talking about.” John told him and Sherlock frowned.

“A doctor?”

“Not just any doctor.” John informed him, just as he hit the post button, watching the entry appear on his blog. “She referred to him as 'The Doctor'. Really Sherlock, I'm surprised you missed that. The one she said faked his death.”

“I only remember what's important.” The detective said, miffed, but he knew better. He was surprised he'd missed it too.

 

Laying across her bed with Lucy's laptop in front of her, Amy was surprised when a little notification popped up in front of her notifying her that there was a new entry on the personal blog of Dr. John Watson. Lucy was out again, working she claimed, but Amy knew better. She knew what a woman looked like on their way out on a date. Curious all over again she opened up the page, and burst out laughing at the sight of the newest entry.

“ _The Enigma of the Woman with the Fairytale Name._ ” she read out loud with a giggle, settling in to read.  
“ _For the first time since the return of the world's only consulting detective, I've met someone Sherlock cannot deduce. He called her an enigma – a puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation – which is an enigma of it's own. We met her for the first time a month ago, seems she just fell out of the sky, and from the moment she appeared with her ginger hair and mini skirts, Sherlock hasn't seemed able to tell much about her. Of course that's put him in a bit of a mood – I'm surprised the violin hasn't lost a few of its strings – but that doesn't change the fact that he can't tell a thing about her besides that she's waiting for someone, likes to travel, can't dress properly in the winter, and hails from Scotland. Though Sherlock is adamant she only spent the earliest years of youth there. What else does he know about her? Nothing short of the fairytale name, and I can tell you that his mood is not improving with this lack of information. I pity the next bloke he chooses to aim those powers of deduction on._  
 _Strange as it is, I think this woman may be good for him – someone who isn't just a puzzle wrapped in a case. She looks right through the posture and arrogance (though how she manages that I have no idea) and asks questions right back. Doesn't intimidate, this one. It seems she's caught his interest, and with none of the games and politics. Instead she has all the answers offered on a platter as if just waiting to be asked the right questions._  
 _I like her, and strangely enough, I think Sherlock might too._ ”

Still grinning, her eyes dropped to the comment page, and saw the first comments were from Sherlock.  
 _“I fail to see the importance or necessity of this post.”_ -Sherlock Holmes  
 _“The title is also long winded and uninformative._ ” - Sherlock Holmes  
 _“It's to point out that the great Sherlock Holmes can't know everything about everyone, and I wasn't about to use her name.”_ \- John Watson  
 _“Know everything? That's preposterous John. It's impossible to know everything. I just know what's important. The fact that her name has a fairytale ring to it is not the most important thing about her.”_ \- Sherlock Holmes  
 _“So this woman IS important then!”_ \- John Watson  
 _“As you pointed out by using the word repeatedly, she is an enigma.”_ \- Sherlock Holmes  
 _“So you find her interesting.”_ \- John Watson  
 _“I find her puzzling.”_ \- Sherlock Holmes  
 _“Boys, once you're done messaging each other across the room, I've got that tea for you.”_ \- Mrs. Hudson  
Amused by the back and forth going on in the comments before her, reminding her so very much of herself and her Doctor, she couldn't help but add her own comment. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she clicked the comment box, writing up her own message.  
 _“I vote to be the 'Ginger Enigma' next time, but you shouldn't complain John, the violin is a lovely instrument.”_ then where her name was supposed to go she wrote – The Ginger in Question. Amused by her own comment, she closed the computer, returning it to the Lucy's bedroom before brewing herself a cup of tea and settling down to watch some mindless telly before bed. She glanced out the window, hoping for a sign of a blue box, but seeing nothing, she just heaved a sigh, turning back to the TV and settling back in to wait.

Sherlock stared at the message on his screen and knew the moment John had seen it too because he came bursting back into the room where Sherlock sat at his desk.  
“Did you see the message? Do you think it's her?” John asked, and Sherlock snapped his computer closed, trying not to be impressed that she'd had the gall to comment on the post clearly written about her.  
“Obviously.” was all he said, and John rolled his eyes.  
“Obvious is it? I suppose. I do like the title she gave, sounds much more like her.”  
“Indeed.” was all Sherlock said, returning to the window with his violin, though this time the tune was much calmer. John knew this meant he wouldn't answer any more questions, but he was impressed that a woman had been able to get this sort of reaction out of Sherlock, to change his mood so quickly. With another shake of his head and a comment about how difficult Sherlock was, John left the room. After listening to his companion's bedroom door close, Sherlock pulled his phone out, sending a text to the number he'd memorized after nicking it from John's pocket. He'd returned it of course, but he'd been too curious to resist.

Amy's phone went off with a simple ding that told her she'd received a text, and she scrambled for it in surprise, wondering who on earth would be texting her.  
 _Well played, Miss Pond._ \- SH  
Amused, Amy couldn't resist texting back.  
 _Amy. Are we playing a game now? Thought you were solving a puzzle._ \- AP  
Sherlock heard the ding of a reply and realized she'd replied, and fairly quickly at that. She'd corrected him once more on the use of her name, but as for the rest he couldn't tell if she were jesting or scolding, and for some odd reason, he didn't like the feel of the second option.  
 _I was led to believe most puzzles are classified as games_. - SH  
 _But not all games are classified as puzzles._ -AP  
He stared at the reply for a moment, an involuntary smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. Before he could think to reply, his phone binged again with another message from the strange woman.  
 _Goodnight cheekbones._ -AP  
He stared at the screen in disbelief at the taunting nickname, but couldn't forget the smile she given him when she'd said it the first time. So she was amused. Interesting. Rather than answer, he went back to his violin, the same woman keeping his thoughts. The Ginger Enigma, he thought, and unable to help himself, he laughed.


	5. The Man With the Empty Eyes

It was another couple of weeks before Sherlock heard directly from the mysterious Amelia Pond, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard anything from her. She'd been texting John, or rather, John had been texting her, and she'd taken a more active participation in commenting on the solved (and to his chagrin unsolved) cases that John posted on his blog, always having a witty or, dare he say flirtatious, comment to make. He was beginning to expect these comments, even found himself disappointed when there weren't any. But when there were, they were always under the name “The Ginger” which though strange, was also strangely amusing. When he finally heard from her, it came in the form of a text.

_I've read your blog. -AP_

_And? - SH_

Amy looked at the response on her phone and couldn't help the grin that spread across her features. She knew the single syllable answers like this always meant Sherlock was nervous of how she would respond, though she would never tell him she knew that. It was exactly what the Doctor had done. She shook off the thought of the Doctor and returned her attention to the text as she slipped on the vest in the backroom of the candy shop.

_It was very different. - AP_

_You did not like it. - SH_

There was no question mark at the end and she frowned, wondering why he would think that. She had to admit it was very abrupt, but then again, that reflected the man perfectly.

_You're losing your touch. -AP_

Was her reply instead, and the next time her phone went off it was with a phone call. Only mildly surprised, she answered on the second ring.

“Hullo Sherlock.” she greeted pleasantly, doing up the buttons to the vest and clipping the hair back from her face, off to the side.

“I'm not losing my touch.” was the clipped reply, and Amy laughed.

“Suppose not. But then again, if you still had it, you wouldn't have assumed different meant I didn't like it.” she quipped, and she could practically hear him frowning. When he didn't reply, she sighed, slipping on the flats she'd brought and leaving her wet boots at the bottom of her locker. “I said different because it is different. You wouldn't exactly classify what your blog contains along the same lines of John's blog, now would you?” The snort of disdain made the answer all to clear and Amy laughed. “Exactly. So, different then. But definitely interesting, much like the man himself.” she informed him, and when she received no answer she laughed again. “Well, seeing as this is a very one sided conversation and I've got to get onto the floor, I'm going to hang up. By the way though, I think you should put that post about the tobacco back up. May not be a case but it was definitely different to read. Who knew there was such a big difference in something as common as tobacco ash. Goodbye Sherlock.” Right before she could hang up she got the briefest and softest of replies.

“Thank you, Amelia.” Instead of responding, she hung up, knowing it was better for his ego that way, and stepped out onto the floor with a smile. As she came out, the young girl who'd been working before her ran out gratefully, pulling Amy's attention to the only customer in the store. He was shorter than she was, with short dark hair combed back, a fancy suit, and dark sunken eyes that were cold enough to send a shiver down her back. She knew eyes like those, she'd seen them before, and it frightened her. Of course she didn't let it show as she gathered her wits about her and strut onto the floor, sliding behind the counter and onto her usual stool. The man followed her with those dark, cold eyes, but she just gave him a friendly smile.

“Can I help you?” she offered, and he gave a shrug, hands clasped behind his back, chewing a piece of gum.

“Can you?” he asked, his voice wanting to send a shiver down her spine, but she just tilted her head with another smile.

“Depends what you're looking for I suppose.” she said in the same friendly tone.

“Shortbread cookies. Heard the best in London are from here.” he said in the same soft, terrifying voice, but she kept the smile on her face.

“Whoever told you that was definitely right. How many would you like?” she asked, and again he shrugged, eyes only leaving her face for a second before roaming around the store and coming back to her.

“All of them I suppose.”

Surprised, Amy couldn't help but show it, but she recovered easily.

“Kathy! Mind bringing out the cookie tins? I'm going to need two of them!” she called, and heard the immediate shuffling of the younger girl in the back, appearing moments later dressed to leave but carrying the two boxes she'd requested. “Thanks, you're a doll.” Amy told her, carefully layering the cookies into boxes. When she looked up at the man he was much closer than she remembered, eyeing the name tag on her vest.

“Amy. Wouldn't be for Amelia, would it?” he asked with a smile she knew was supposed to be friendly, but because of how easily he went from empty to friendly sent a chill down her spine.

“Yes, it does. I prefer Amy though.” Her phone 'bing'ed in her back pocket as she'd clearly forgotten to turn it off, and the man lifted an eyebrow. She gave an apologetic smile, closing the tins she'd filled with cookies, leaving none left on the tray. She rang it up and then he payed by cash, handing her a hundred dollar bill which she promptly made change for. He was just on his way out carrying the two boxes when he turned back, cocking his head as if to examine her.

“You don't by chance know a Sherlock, do you?” he asked, and Amy just gave a bright smile.

“Should I know a Sherlock?” he stared at her for only a moment longer before leaving, and she couldn't help the sigh of relief that passed her lips. That man had been off, and she couldn't help but wish for the thousandth time that the Doctor had been there. He always knew what to make of strange characters like the one that had just left the store. Her phone binged again, reminding her that she'd received a text, and she checked it to see it wasn't Sherlock, who she always secretly hoped it was now when her phone buzzed, but John.

_Having a bit of a gathering for Mrs. Hudson tonight. It's her birthday. Any of that shortbread left? - JW_

Seeing no one that looked like they were going to walk in and need her attention, she dialled his number. He answered quickly and without ado she was giving him a list of ingredients.

“The strangest man just came in and bought the rest of the cookies, but it doesn't take much time to bake, and the ingredients will cost you less than buying the cookies from here.” she told him.

“I'm not much one for baking.” he told her and she laughed.

“I can bake them just fine on my own as long as you don't mind me borrowing your kitchen. I promised I'd keep the baking out of my own kitchen since Lucy's decided I'm much better at cleaning up after myself when I don't consider it my space.”

John just laughed. “Alright, well we're having everyone over around seven, so however much time you need before that-” she could hear him getting caught up in his own words and cut him off with another laugh.

“How many do you need?” she asked, and his answer was there was only a handful of people who'd be there. “Right then. I'll be there about quarter past five. That'll give me plenty of time. Work though, see you tonight. Don't forget any of those ingredients.”

 

John hung up the phone and turned to see Sherlock watching him.

“Who was that?” he asked, watching with narrowed eyes as John returned the phone to his pocket.

“Just Amy. Wanted to know if she had any of those cookies left but apparently some bloke just bought them all.”

“Shame.” Was all Sherlock said, turning to go back to rifling through the case file on his desk when John continued.

“A bit, but she said she'd make some for us anyways, I've just got to go pick up the stuff she needs.”

“She'll be making them here?” Sherlock asked, and when he turned back to John, the blonde man almost thought he looked distressed.

“Yeah, be here at a quarter past five she said, after she's finished working for the day. I'll have to clean the kitchen when I get back so whatever you don't want me to touch you can deal with while I'm out.” With that he grabbed his jacket off the hook, heading down the stairs. Sherlock stood frozen until he heard the sound of the front door close, and then he was in action.

 


	6. Cookies and Conversation

 It was a half past five when the knock on the door finally came. It was John who answered it, looking a bit put out, but he smiled at the sight of her.

“Sorry I'm late!” she apologized profusely, “I just realized that I might need some actual baking tools and since I didn't want to trouble you with finding it all for me, I brought my own.” she followed him up the stairs and into a near spotless space, looking around in surprise. “Wow. Wish I could keep the flat this neat. Lucy's hardly ever in, but when she is she gripes that I haven't done the cleaning.” Amy said with a roll of her eyes, letting John take the bag she'd brought as she hung her coat on a hook.

“Is that your boyfriend's coat?” Came the deep voice from across the room and she looked over to see Sherlock standing in the doorway to what she assumed was his bedroom or something similar.

“No, I'd need a boyfriend to steal his jacket. This one's definitely mine. Got it a few weeks back.”

“Strange, isn't it? To be wearing a man's coat.”

She lifted a brow at him, hanging her scarf over the coat. She was in boots again but for once was wearing actual tights under her mini skirt, paired with a thin bright blue cable knit sweater.

“Not particularly, but if it bothers you so much you can always get me a new one. As it is, this one suits me just fine.” she said in that teasing voice he was growing accustomed hearing pass her lips, following her into the kitchen. “D'you get everything I asked for, John?” she asked, pulling out two mixing bowls, 2 cookie sheets, a roll of wax paper, a roll of plastic wrap, a wooden spoon, and a mixer out of the bag she'd brought with. Beside her, John was pulling the four simple ingredients she'd asked for out of the cupboard (she didn't count the salt as an ingredient since she only needed a pinch she informed them), and once she'd checked everything was there she opened the oven to make sure was nothing was in it and then turned it on.

“Do people usually store things in their oven?” Sherlock asked, and though John shot him a look that spoke of the many things he himself had left in there as experiments, he just waited for the answer.

“Pans mostly. Some don't have space for them in the cupboards so the most commonly used sheets or pans get left in the oven. Loads of people do it.”

Sherlock didn't bother answering and John took that moment to tell her about the many experiments Sherlock had conducted using the oven.

“The head in the fridge was by far the worst though.”

“An actual human head?” Amy asked in surprise, and Sherlock made a sound of disbelief, rolling his eyes.

“What else do you think he meant? A rubber one?” Something about that had her freezing, though only for a moment, before returning to her mixing of the ingredients.

“You never know with you lot. It may have been alien.” That was clearly a tease though he could sense something behind it. Before he could ask she'd been drawn back into conversation with John and so Sherlock leaned in the doorway, just watching her. She was full of life, this strange Amelia Pond, and curiosity. Then there was the fact that she was so very feisty. There was no other word for her. She was also still waiting.

“This Doctor you're waiting for, how long have you been waiting?” She shrugged, but Sherlock could see the doubt that flashed in her eyes.

“Since I ran into the two of you the first time.” she said easily, handing the mixer to a surprised John as she turned to cut pieces of the wax paper and set it on each of the cookie sheets. Then she took the mixer back from John, relieving him before he could become too worried about ruining them. She set the mixer aside before using the wooden spoon to stir in the flower to what she'd already whipped together.

“That's almost two months now. Long time to be waiting. Where is he?”

“Here and there.” Amy said with a proud smile that said she knew something of the vague places she spoke of, though not the where of them.

“So you couldn't find him if you wanted to?” he asked with a slight frown, and Amy shook her head, though when she smiled at him it was with an acceptance he didn't understand.

“Doesn't work like that with the Doctor. He'll find me eventually. Just take a bit of time. Forgot my last mobile with him so he won't have the new number, but I've told him of Lucy, so I'm sure if he ends up in London he'll look there. That's if he doesn't just find me right off. He has this strange habit of being able to find me no matter where I've gotten to. Sometimes it just takes a bit longer.”

“So this is a common occurrence. Waiting for this Doctor.” Sherlock stated, and again Amy shrugged, flattening the dough into a disk shape which she then wrapped with plastic before putting it in the fridge.

“It's far more complicated than that, Sherly.” she teased, and though John's gaze snapped to Sherlock's face in horror at the nickname, Sherlock ignored it.

“It can't be that complicated.” he said instead, and Amy turned towards him, hands on her hips and a wide flirty grin on her face.

“It is. But I'm sure you'll figure that out when you meet him.”

“So you think he's coming soon?”

“Oh I hope so or he'll be in trouble. Either way though, I think it would be amusing if the two of you met. Cheekbones and chin boy. I can see it now.” she dumped the equipment she'd dirtied into the sink, giving a laugh as she filled the sink with hot water and soap. “I can't decide if you'd hit it off or hit each other cause there'd be no in between. You'll either hate each other or love each other.”

“Is that so.” Sherlock stated more than asked, and without really thinking he'd grabbed a dry tea towel, drying the dishes as she handed them to him. John watched it in silent amazement. First he'd allowed her to give him a nickname, a second time no less, second he'd cleaned the entire apartment while John had been out because she'd been on her way over, and third, he was now doing something as domestic as drying dishes because she handed them to him. He wondered if Amy had been right and there were aliens and Sherlock had been replaced by one.

“Tis. The Doctor, he's brilliant, and some say half mad. Some even call him a freak. He's always running around saving people, and it's always dangerous. Sound about right, John?” she called, and John snapped out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, uh, that's right.” then he actually thought about it. “That's exactly right. Sure you're not describing Sherlock?” he said, and she gave Sherlock an I-told-you-so grin even as he shot a bland look in John's direction.

“How long does it have to stay in the fridge?” John asked, changing the conversation since he didn't know how Sherlock would take her words, and Amy glanced at the clock.

“Bout an hour in total.” she told him, and Sherlock glanced at the stove she'd already turned on. Amy followed his gaze but just gave him that same cheeky grin, reaching into the bag and pulling out a Sheppard’s pie. “I haven't eaten at all today. This just needs to bake for a good twenty minutes or until the potatoes brown, then it'll be done. I was hoping that if I offered to share I could borrow the oven for the extra time.” John just nodded, giving her a wave that motioned to go right ahead, and with another grin she uncovered the glass dish and slid it in the oven. Then she set a timer she'd also brought with her and went to drop on the couch, glancing around the room to take in the possessions she could see. When she started to frown, Sherlock spoke up, unable to help himself.

“What is it.” he made it sound almost irritated, but Amy could see the curiosity in those pale blue eyes.

“It's so clean. I'd think as a detective always running about it would be a bit messier. I always imagined there'd be case files everywhere, odd books and stolen evidence. 'Cause why would the great Sherlock Holmes trust someone else's analysis when he could do it himself?” She wasn't mocking him and that surprised him, she just looked openly curious, and almost disappointed by the neatness. Handing her a cup of tea which she accepted gratefully, it was John that answered.

“It usually is just as you say. Just thought we'd clean up for once rather than leaving it for Mrs. Hudson. Seeing as it's her birthday and all.” he said with a meaningful look towards Sherlock.

“Of course. Mrs. Hudson, the landlady who is not the housekeeper.” she said with a smile into her cup, but then her eyes lifted to meet Sherlock's and she tossed him a wink. Flustered, though he refused to show it, Sherlock dropped into his own chair with a huff, watching her out of the corner of his eyes.

“So just how many cases have you solved then?” Amy asked, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

“Does it matter?”

“Course not, just curious as always.” she answered, standing in a fluid and yet over the top motion as she began to wander the room, socked feet sliding on the wooden floor. “Whose the skull?” she asked suddenly, and both men looked at her in surprise. When she turned back to see their surprise she just smiled. “What, you haven't named him? Poor fellow. Nameless all these long years.” she mused, moving along the mantle towards the bookshelf. “Have you actually read all of these?” she asked, and it was Sherlock who answered.

“Of course.”

“Really?” she asked, “Because it looks like some of these spines haven't even been cracked.” John hid his laugh behind a sip of tea even as she reached for a book with no title on it's spine. Then she just she stopped, turning back with a frown. “I mentioned earlier that there was a man who bought all the cookies right when you texted, yeah?” she said, and John looked up at her in surprise, nodding as he wondered where this would go. Amy moved to the desk, perching on Sherlock's desk as her fingers danced over whatever was left laying on top. “Well he was strange and I just remembered because he asked if I knew you.” she directed that at Sherlock who lifted a curious brow.

“Many people know me. Why would this man be special?” Amy shivered and that single reaction had Sherlock nearly on his feet, that someone could be cold enough for that chill to linger on someone so very bright.

“He wasn't very tall.” she put her hand out, closing one eye as she looked at John and seemed to measure him. “Maybe just a touch taller than Johnny boy there. Smartly dressed too, sort of like you, Sherlock, except just that extra posh. You know when they're perfectly pressed? Not all mussed like you seem to like.” She hopped off the desk when the timer rang for the oven and ruffled Sherlock's hair as she passed, leaving John to stare open mouthed when Sherlock didn't even react, just rose to follow her.

“What was his name?” Sherlock asked, curious now as he followed her into the kitchen, watching as she looked for oven mitts to pull the food out. When she turned to him to ask he'd already grabbed a second tea towel, nudging her out of the way to do it himself.

“He didn't give me a name.” she said, searching the drawers until she found a serving tool, using it to fan the top of the pie. “Plates?” she asked, and Sherlock moved off even as she continued to speak. “He sort of asked me mine, but he just said he'd heard the shortbread cookies were best in town and he wanted to buy them all. He payed in cash so didn't get to see a name on a credit card or anything.” She began dishing out food onto the three plates he'd given her, and she served up large portions on each plate, handing him one and then taking one out to John before she dropped back onto the couch, tucking her feet under herself before digging in.

“Did you notice anything else about the way he talked? What he looked like?” She took a bite of food, expression thoughtful as she swallowed.

“He had really dark eyes. Not just dark though, like deep set in his face. Sort of sunken. And they were cold.” she frowned into her food, taking another bite. “Not like the 'bugger off you're annoying' cold, but the empty sort of cold. Like there was no hint of warmth in him at all. But then he could switch it on.” she shivered again. “Brilliant actor, he'd be. Or raging psychopath.” John and Sherlock traded a look at that. There was a man they both recognized that sounded very similar to the man Amy was describing, but he'd died four years before, and there was no faking a bullet to the head.

“What were his exact words when he asked for me?” Sherlock near demanded, and Amelia looked thoughtful again. Then she closed her eyes, a slight frown creasing her brow, her fork waving like a baton.

“He was just leaving, then he turned back and looked at me like I was a science project. Then he said 'You don't by chance know a Sherlock, do you?'” she mimicked, dropping her voice a tone, “But he seemed a bit off his rocker, and I didn't much want him coming back round, so I said 'Should I know a Sherlock?' and he seemed to believe me cause he just looked at me another moment before leaving.” she opened her eyes again, grinning as she took another bite. “Oh! And he knew my name was Amelia just like you did.”

Sherlock was frowning at his plate, eating it in slow measured bites, and John was watching him carefully, waiting for a reaction. Her plate empty surprisingly quick, Amy was on her feet and beside Sherlock's chair, hovering beside him with a curious twist of her lips.

“Did I say something?” she asked, and Sherlock looked up in surprise, having not realized how intent on the plate he'd been while lost in thought.

“You were probably right to say you didn't know me.” he told her, and watched her face light up as if a bulb had literally been lit over her head.

“You're thinking 'cause I didn't admit you're my friend that I don't consider you as such, yeah?” she asked with a smile, carrying her plate to the kitchen with an almost waltzing movement, and Sherlock frowned after her.

“No, of course not-” he began, but she just grinned as she came back, cutting him off with an easy peck to his cheek.

“Not to worry, I consider you quite a good friend. Everyone else is boring really with all the normal life stuff. What the two of you do is so much more exciting!” she exclaimed as she twirled back to the kitchen, pulling the dough for the cookies out of the fridge. “You're cases, the adventure of them, it's so much more interesting to talk about rather than whose dating who, what celebrity did what shocking thing.” she covered a counter with flour, unwrapping the cookie dough and letting it drop on the counter before she looked around. “Do you have a rolling pin? I forgot mine.” she admitted, and John instantly went to fetch it for her as she switched back to the previous topic. “I couldn't keep up with all that nonsense before, and the two of you are much more interesting to hear about than any of that anyways.” as he handed her the rolling pin, John was smiling, glad that someone with more patience for Sherlock's antics than himself had appeared, and with equal if not surpassing amount of interest. “I just didn't want to tell him because he scared me and I didn't want him back to ask more questions.” she admitted it so easily, without any embarrassment that Sherlock was struck with the thought that admitting fear wasn't exactly something new to her, nor was it something she found shaming. Another strange thing about the mysterious Amelia Pond. But at her admittance he caught John giving him a look, one that showed worry for this girl who'd quite literally dropped into their lives. He couldn't help but feel that same tug of worry at the fact that fear, such a dark feeling, was so common place to such a bright woman. She was cutting the dough into perfect circles once it had been rolled flat, and laying them on the cookie trays. Leaving her to it, John moved over to Sherlock, the worry still clear on his face.

“Do you think she's in trouble?” John asked, and Sherlock shook his head, though for once he wasn't sure.

 


	7. A Party for Mrs. Hudson

When the cookies were just about finished, John went downstairs to fetch Mrs. Hudson and invite the few others who'd been told about the evening in which left Amy and Sherlock alone in their flat. She was just removing all the cookies from the baking sheet and sliding them onto a plate when Sherlock joined her, his attention caught by the smear of flour across her cheek.

“You're a mess.” he stated, and she just stuck her tongue out at him, an annoying action he found surprisingly cute on her. She wiped at her cheek to brush away the flour he'd motioned at, but only managed to spread it around more. With a sigh that he hoped sounded annoyed, he ordered her to stay still, gaining an amused smirk as he brought his thumb to her cheek, trying to brush the flour away. Instead he ended up cupping her round cheek in his palm, thumb brushing the skin.

“Are you going to kiss me or just keep staring at me?” at the sound of her words he pulled away, shaking his head against the action. It wasn't that he didn't find women attractive, of course he did he was only human after all, it was that they were usually rather boring, and predictable. Yet Amelia Pond seemed to be none of those things because rather than be upset, or embarrassed, or offended, she just shrugged, accepting his decision, and that itself was unacceptable. So he reached for her again cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her. Once again she surprised him. She didn't return the kiss with the same passion she seemed to live with, but softly, cautiously, though no less wanting. At the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs he drew back, looking into her green eyes, wide as they stared back at him.

“Your pupils are dilated.” he murmured, still close enough that his breath kissed her skin.

“So are yours.” she said in return, accent thicker now, and then watched as he smiled. It was then that she heard the footsteps too and released her grip on his shirt, turning back to grab the plate she'd filled with cookies and spinning by him again. This time though her grin had returned and she grabbed the front of his shirt quickly, pulling him in for a chaste kiss before she spun away again, grinning once more. He watched her go, straightening his shirt before he followed, feeling the flush in his cheeks from having just kissed Amelia Pond.

 

In truth, John had invited the same people he always invited, Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade, and the girl he was dating, which at this point was Mary Morstan, along with of course, himself, Sherlock, and Amy. Mrs. Hudson was of course the first one in the room and Amy swooped right in, offering her a cookie off the platter.

“Happy Birthday Mrs. Hudson.” she said in a sing song voice, “What does that make you, thirty? Twenty-nine tops.” she said in that same flirty voice she used with everyone it seemed, and Mrs. Hudson gave a giggle Sherlock had most certainly not expected to hear.

“Oh you're a dear. I like her, Sherlock, don't scare her off.” before he could be offended Amy was giving another laugh.

“Scare me off? Oh Mrs. Hudson, you give him far to much credit and me far to little.” Next in the room was Greg Lestrade who looked at her in confusion.

“Sorry, have we met?” Lestrade said, offering his hand with that flirty smile that made Sherlock instantly jealous, though he didn't know why he felt it so strongly.

“Of course you haven't, Lestrade, if you had you wouldn't bother asking such a ridiculous question.” Sherlock snapped, but Amy shot Sherlock a grin before shaking Lestrade's hand, tray of cookies balanced on her hip.

“No, we haven't officially met but I've heard a lot about you from Lucy. You and the rest of the devision seem to always choose her bar to regale each other with stories.”

“Lucy Pengrast? The bartender at the Pendragon? That's your flatmate?” John asked in disbelief as he appeared at the top of the stairs with Molly.

“Of course. Didn't I say so? Guess it never seemed all that important what her last name was since I've known her so long.” She offered around more cookies which were all accepted gratefully.

“So you're Amy, Amy Pond?” Molly cut in when she was finally able to step forward, and Amy gave her a bright smile.

“That's me. And you're Molly. I've heard wonderful things about you. You help Sherlock at the hospital morgue, yes? Listen to all that constant nattering. Quite brilliant, you are. Willing to take the dirt this one shoves when he's upset and come back with a smile each day. Just brilliant.” she offered Molly a cookie who excepted in with a happy smile, cheeks flushed with pleasure and embarrassment.

“Didn't realize he spoke of me so often.”

“How could he not? You're always there. Quite the good friend.” Molly's smile didn't even falter at the obvious placement of where she stood, and Sherlock could only stare at Amy in disbelief. She was good at this, this people thing, and he'd yet to think of once when he'd gotten angry with her. In fact, he didn't think he had. Everyone else he'd angered or been angry with, but not Amy, it was as if her nature wouldn't allow it, which was also surprising since he could see she had a temper just below the smiles.

The evening went successfully which was surprising to Sherlock, who usually managed to cut things short, but it actually lasted the proper amount of time. He played the violin since Mrs. Hudson insisted, and was gratified when Amy just stared when he finished with a charmed smile on her face, as if she was still listening even when he'd stopped. It was at the end of the night that he heard the first sound of even mild displeasure from anyone, and it came in the form of a harsh scottish accent.

“Oi!” came the exclamation, softer than it should've been and clearly not bothering anyone else, but it still caught his attention. He excused himself from listening to Mrs. Hudson and went to the kitchen, just as the scottish accent rang out again after only a few seconds. “Watch it, handsy.” came the sharp words, and Sherlock appeared in the doorway to see Lestrade and Amy facing off, Amy brandishing her wooden spoon and Lestrade giving an innocent smile. The moment he came into sight, Amy saw him, and she shifted, ever so subtly to aim the spoon at him, as if warning him of what would happen if he interfered. He would've laughed if he hadn't been curious to see what she was going to do.

“Now Greg, you don't mind if I call you Greg do you?” she asked and when he shook his head she gave a winning smile. “Right then, Greg, it seems to me you're looking in entirely the wrong place.” she stepped closer to him but turned away, pointing towards Molly. “See that pretty girl there? Yes I do mean Molly, she's a sweetheart and you know what? I'm thinking you're in need of a sweetheart and she's in need of someone who'll recognize what a sweetheart she is.” she looked back up at Lestrade over her shoulder with another smile. “You see what I'm saying here Greg?” it took him only a second before he nodded, a thoughtful look appearing as he looked at Molly who looked up under their combined gazes just to blush and give a friendly smile at all the attention. “That right there is exactly what I mean. Ask her to dinner! Or dessert. Even a coffee would do. But you've already known her for years and done nothing, wait to much longer and she'll be swept up right under your nose.” Lestrade was nodding along with her and she gave him a swat with the spoon to get him moving. “Well run along then! No time like the present!” Lestrade did as suggested, moving towards Molly with only a slight nod towards Sherlock as he passed. In turn, Sherlock moved to stand beside Amy to watch her plan bear fruit.

“Were you coming to check on me?” she asked in a tone where he couldn't tell if it would lead to a reprimand or another jest.

“I think it's been properly proven that you don't need checking up on.” he told her, and she gave a soft laugh, eyes still trained on Molly and Lestrade.

“You've got that right.” she said with a proud grin, but then she tossed him a smaller smile. “I am flattered though. That you took the moment. I don't know if I could've been pulled away from that enthralling conversation about area rugs.”

“Oh is that what she was saying?” Sherlock asked, only half joking, Amy burst out laughing, giving him a playful nudge him with her shoulder. Then she was drawing his attention to the other guests.

“Look at that; don't think John'll be spending the night here.” she teased, and only moments later he was following Mary to the door, sliding into his own coat even after helping Mary into hers. Amy shot Sherlock a smug grin but he just rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the other two who were not Mrs. Hudson.

“Appears as if your suggestion was taken to heart.” he told her, watching Molly blush at whatever praise Lestrade had given, making that unconscious turn towards him, that tell tale sign of attraction as she was subconsciously drawn closer.

“I only suggested what was inevitable. Plus she's had rotten luck with men. First that evil fellow who was out to get you, then she's had her sights set on you for years.” the look he got next was reprimanding, but he just lifted a superior brow.

“Are you suggesting I should have lied to spare her feelings?” he asked harshly, and Amy, to his surprise, laughed.

“Please. But brutal honestly, which is much more your style, could've been useful. She still would've stuck around as your friend if you'd stopped letting her get her hopes up.” But Amy was smiling again, and Sherlock could only give another huff.

“Happy Birthday Mrs. Hudson, I think we're turning in for the night as well.” Lestrade said, leaning down to kiss the older woman's cheek before leading Molly out. “I'll get you a cab.” Molly tossed a smile and a wave towards where Amy and Sherlock stood and Amy grinned back with an exuberant wave of her own, Sherlock just nodded.

“Well, that was lovely.” Mrs. Hudson said standing as well. “Thank you Sherlock, and Amy. I'll just help tidy up then.” But Amy was stepping in the way before she could even start.

“Not tonight Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock will walk you downstairs, won't you Sherlock? While I start tidying. Really since I made most of the mess it's only fair.” Amy said easily, tugging Sherlock along and pushing him towards the door. He just tossed her a bland look but didn't bother arguing, there really was no point trying, and did as she asked.

“Lovely girl, Amy.” Mrs. Hudson said, as they made their way downstairs, and Sherlock nodded. “Is she your girlfriend?” Mrs. Hudson asked, and Sherlock found himself surprised. Noticing, Mrs. Hudson just smiled. “Well she's the only person you properly speak to other than John, and though I thought the two of you might – well,” she waved at the air and Sherlock smirked. “But seeing as John's been seeing Mary for a while, quite like her too by the way,” she told him with a pointed look. “I thought it was about time you found someone.”

“We're not dating, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock informed her, but then found himself wondering if they could be. What did people do on dates? He didn't really know. Perhaps he'd ask John, though of course that could end up getting back to Amy. Molly. He could ask Molly. He nodded to himself, opening Mrs. Hudson's door for her.

“Shame. I think you should. Ask her on a nice date. I think the two of you would make a lovely pair.” He didn't answer, just closed the door behind her, bidding her goodnight before he went back upstairs. Amy had already finished tidying, washing up the last of the dishes and setting them to dry when Sherlock came in.

“I like your friends.” She said, not even turning around as she continued with the dishes. “Mrs. Hudson is very kind, Molly very sweet, and Greg is quite funny. I even like Mary. She seems a good balance for John with you on the other end. Doesn't mind all the running around you do, and she's obviously waiting for him to pop the question.”

“Noticed that to did you?” Sherlock asked, wondering how on earth she could've know, and then he saw her touch her ring finger on her left hand, completely unconsciously. “Are you married?” he found himself asking, and now she did look at him, only surprised for a moment before she gave a sad looking smile.

“Was once. Not anymore.”

“What happened?” he found himself searching her for the answer, was she widowed? It looked like both yes and a no, and who left who? It looked like it could go either way. He didn't understand, and he didn't like not understanding. He didn't like having to ask, but at the same time found himself wondering just what she would say and how she would say it.

“We got a divorce.” and by that he could clearly see it meant she had instigated the affair, and yet she looked – was it heartbroken?

“Why?” and she stepped away from the sink, lifting a brow even as she gave that small teasing smile that said she knew he was trying to deduce the answer from her.

“He wanted children, and I couldn't give him any.” That had not been the answer Sherlock had expected, and he looked at her in an all new light.

“But aren't you already a mother?” he asked, and this time she laughed.

“Clever aren't you? Yes I have a daughter, and yes she's his daughter as well. But that's very complicated. Much more complicated than I could explain without her or at least without you having met the Doctor. Ever since Melody though I haven't been able to have any more children.” he caught the wince, the ghost of pain and fear, and decided to let it drop, knowing that was unlike him, but not wanting to see those things in her eyes anymore. So he changed the subject back to the doctor.

“He seems to come up a lot, your doctor.” Sherlock said, as she wandered towards the living room.

“He should. He's been around for most of my life.” Though admittedly, she thought, a lot of that had been her waiting for him. She moved towards the stand and picked up the violin gingerly. Offering it to him. “Would you play for me again?” she asked, and he found himself taking it up, starting a slow, almost lullaby type tune.

“Tell me more about this doctor.” he asked, as she flopped down on the couch, curling up on her side to look at him.

“He's very old, and very kind.” and the very last of his kind, Amy thought to herself. “He's a hero, but he doesn't think so. Being around him is dangerous, and exciting, and always an adventure.”

“Does he scare you?” he didn't know why he asked, but maybe it was because the idea of this doctor didn't sit well with him, the idea of how she seemed to praise him without really knowing it bothering him.

“Sometimes. But never for myself. He's very protective of me.” she gave a roll of her eyes. “Sometimes too protective really. But that can make him frightening. He never does well travelling on his own, or when his companions are threatened.” her voice was growing softer, and then she stopped talking, maybe because she was reminiscing about the strange words she'd just given him, but when he turned back she'd fallen asleep. He stopped playing and she stirred but didn't wake up, and he wasn't quite sure what to do. Did he wake her and put her in a taxi? But she looked so peaceful, so instead he just heaved a sigh, setting down the violin to lift her up and carry her to his bedroom. He pulled the blanket over her and just stared a moment at the way the fiery waves splashed across his pillows, and he brushed a stray one from her cheek, leaning down to place the softest kiss on her brow.

“Amelia Pond.” he murmured her name and found himself smiling. He was beginning to think she made even the simplest tasks interesting, and that not having her around would make things infinitely more boring than they had been before. With only a quick glance behind him, he slipped out, closing the door in his wake.

 


	8. The Nightmare

 Amy knew she was dreaming, but in the dream she was in still terrified her. She didn't know where she was, and she couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. Was it the silence closing in? Or was it the angels? She didn't know, but she was terrified of both. She ran into a room but then she seemed to fall in the darkness, limbs becoming tangled. She tried to force herself awake, but when she opened her eyes, her limbs were still tangled, and she was still in a dark place she didn't recognize. The last time she'd woken up in a place she didn't recognize had been when she'd been taken by the silence, right before they'd taken her daughter from her. The fear bubbled up in her throat and she couldn't hold it in. She screamed.

 

Sherlock had never heard such a terrified scream before in his life, and it chilled him to the bone. He'd been laying on the couch, the scent of Amelia Pond snaking into his senses, when he heard her scream, and he was on his feet in an instant sprinting towards his own bedroom. He threw the door open and flipped on the light to see her struggling with the blanket, having caught herself up so she could hardly move. He ran right over, pulling her free, his hands on her face to make her focus on him.

“Amelia, you're alright. Amelia, look at me.” he waited as her eyes focused on him and then she was throwing her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know where I was. Last time I woke up and didn't know where I was-” she broke up, clearly frightened by the memory, and he realized then that he'd barely scratched the surface of knowing what made Amelia Pond tick. He was beginning to realize much of what he didn't understand was based on these mysterious adventures with the Doctor.

“We're in my bedroom.” he told her to start, and felt her look around, still hugging him tightly. “You fell asleep and I didn't wish to wake you.”

“No, thank you. I appreciate that, I do. I'm sorry for causing a fright.” she leaned back, looking a bit flustered. “It's been quite a long time since I've had a nightmare of any sort.” her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment now, and it was one of the first predictable reactions he'd ever seen her have. He was glad for it, that she wasn't completely unreachable in that way. He was still sitting with her on the bed, eyes taking in every little thing, fingers surreptitiously taking the pulse in her wrist. It was still sprinting, and so he stayed where he was.

“What happened the last time?” when she looked up from her lap it was with a curious smile.

“Sorry?”

“The last time. You were saying that the last time you woke up without knowing where you were was when...” he trailed off and she'd visibly tensed, mouth twisted to the side as if deciding whether to tell him or not. Then she sighed, pushing the mass of fiery curls from her face, only to have them fall exactly as they had been. It amused him, but he couldn't bring himself to smile.

“The last time was – well I was missing I suppose. Though I didn't know it till the end. I'd thought I was somewhere else, I guess I'd been asleep, or something like that anyways. I was pregnant with Melody, and well I had her there, wherever I was. But the Doctor, and Rory, they saved me. It was fine. But I'd gone missing before I even properly knew I was pregnant. And next thing I knew I was having a baby.”

Though she didn't seem to put off by it, now that she was awake, Sherlock was appalled. She was telling him she'd been missing for about nine months, and hadn't even known. He knew that meant she'd either been kept in a coma, or the events were so traumatizing that her brain had chosen to forget. Either way, he was furious with this doctor, and even the Rory she'd mentioned, for allowing her to be gone so long. It was as if she saw him anger, something he'd always been so good at containing, and reached out, fingers brushing along his cheekbone, smile playing at her lips.

“It's alright. That was years ago. Melody is full grown now.” The smile widened at that, containing another curious secret. “We got her back and she's fine.” he stood, unable to come to terms with the fact that not only had she been taken, but her child taken from her and that she was alright with this.

“I don't think I want to meet this doctor of yours.” he said in a low tone, not looking at her, but he could feel her curiosity.

“Why?”

“Because he's obviously some sort of mad man whose managed to make you believe it was alright to have been imprisoned and your daughter taken from you.” she reached for his hand then, not allowing him to tug away this time.

“I can't tell you the full story, but I can tell you that isn't exactly right. Trust me when I tell you I threatened his life when I found out my daughter was gone and that he hadn't saved her too. It was only when he told me just how he planned on getting her back that I allowed myself to even consider forgiving him.” she paused, giving a heavy sigh and a strained laugh. “It's really very complicated. One day you'll understand. But if I tried to explain it on my own you'd think I was half mad.” he turned back to her then, accepting the sincerity of her words, though he wasn't yet comfortable with them. She was smiling at him again, and for some reason, he couldn't justify taking that smile away with any harsh words, so he sat with her again.

“One day I will ask for a full explanation.” he told her, knowing it was a partial threat, and her grin just widened, the sparkle back in her eyes that told him she knew something he most certainly didn't.

“One day I'll be happy to give it to you.”

He scowled at her but she just grinned again, leaning forward to kiss him. The motion caught him off guard, though looking back it shouldn't have, and he found his hands buried in the mass of ginger curls.

“Would it be to much trouble if I just stayed here the night?” she asked, just a little breathless, and he nodded, preparing to leave, but she kept him from going. “Stay. The couch can't be comfortable and I promise to behave.” the last was said with another cheeky grin, and he couldn't find it in himself to be either offended or disappointed. So instead he just nodded, standing just to click off the light before laying down beside her. He was surprised when she cuddled into his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder, but he didn't push her away, just listened as her breath evened out, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do with the strange Amelia Pond.

 


	9. Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, Stayin' Alive, Stayin' Alive

Amy was in a wonderful mood. She mopped the floor of the shop, cleaning up any mud or slush tracked in from the day of customers, wondering whether or not to call Sherlock, but she figured if she didn't call within the next ten minutes her phone would ring anyways. The thought had her grinning to herself. It'd been a month since she'd woken up from a nightmare in Sherlock's bed, and it wasn't the last time she found herself waking up in that very room, more often than not with him fast asleep beside her. Though she knew he'd been spending lots of time since then trying to figure out her past and just who the Doctor was, he hadn't pushed her away, instead he'd pulled her closer. She was fairly sure she was in love with him. How could she not be? Brilliant, frustrating, exciting Sherlock Holmes; he was her type if she had one. Yet unlike the Doctor, Sherlock was human, and Sherlock was not someone running from anything. He also wasn't married to her daughter. Rather than making her give that involuntary wince it used to make her do, the thought made her laugh. The Doctor and River Song. Sherlock and Amelia Pond. Funny how their names acted more like titles, she mused, but she supposed that was part of the attraction. The power that name could hold. On cue, her phone rang, and she answered it even as she put the mop and bucket away. It only took a glance at the screen to see it was exactly who she expected, and she answered with a grin.

“Hullo, Sherlock. Just closing up the shop.” she told him, sliding on her coat and wrapping her scarf around her neck.

“It's only a week until Christmas.” he told her, and she laughed.

“You're absolutely right. Does this mean you're going to call your brother for a family reunion?” she teased, knowing now of the strained and complicated relationship of the Holmes brothers. The answer was a disbelieving snort.

“Please.” there was a pause, and then came the question that clearly made him nervous because he made it sound unimportant. “But I was given the impression by John that most people do indeed spend Christmas with their family, silly holiday really, and-”

“You were wondering if I would be leaving London to spend Christmas with any family I may have.” she finished for him. “No, I don't think I'll be going anywhere. God knows where Melody is, or the Doctor, and Rory and I don't spend Christmas together anymore.” it hadn't taken Sherlock long to figure out just who Rory was, the ex-husband of Amelia Pond, and he was strangely relieved when she said it in such a tone to make it sound like the very last thing she wanted to be doing anyways. “Know what I think would be interesting though?” she said, and heard his sigh, they both knew what she was going to say. “I think you should call Mycroft and invite him round for tea.”

“Amelia-” he tried to protest, but she didn't allow it.

“Oh come on Sherlock, is it really such a big deal? It isn't like he can do much plotting sitting across the room from you.” He could see her grin in his minds eye as she spun her words around him. “I'm very curious to meet the elder Holmes brother, though I don't think anyone can be as brilliant as you, it would be interesting to meet the man who could come the closest.” they both knew she was using flattery to try and get what she wanted, but neither were opposed.

“If he says no?” Sherlock asked, already regretting having agreed to call him in the first place, and could practically hear Amy beaming.

“Then I'll call him myself. Texted myself the number from your phone ages ago.” Thrown completely by surprised, Sherlock knew his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut, listening to Amy laugh through the phone. “Have you eaten today?” she asked, changing the subject, having taken it upon herself to make sure he ate proper meals even when in the middle of an exciting case. He began to say yes but hesitated and Amy jumped on the hesitation.

“Right then, Chinese? Ask John if that works cause I'm sure he's forgotten to eat too. Oh and put the kettle on, I've got a craving for some hot chocolate and you've got some above the kettle, I brought it last week.” Sherlock chuckled and Amy listened as he asked John if he wanted Chinese food, and the surprised but agreeable response from John. Even as Sherlock lifted the phone back to his ear, Amy was turning away from the door and bumping into a stranger, making her drop her phone.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed, even as a small, well-manicured hand reached for it, lifting it out of the snow to hand to her. She could hear Sherlock shouting her name though it was only faint, and it made her nervous as the stranger's eyes drilled into her.

“Amelia, isn't it?” the familiar, empty-eyed stranger asked even as he looked at the screen before offering it, and she accepted her phone back while doing her best to avoid contact, her usual friendly smile on her lips, even as a chill struggled to take hold of her. She could feel the old impulse taking hold – the one to shout for the Doctor and have him come running, but she ignored it. She was better off not even thinking of him, instead focusing on the man waiting for her on the other end of the phone.

“That's me. Thanks.” She glanced at her screen to see the call was still going, Sherlock's name clear as day beside the climbing number that told them the length of the call. She lifted it back to her ear even as the man's gaze bore into her but she kept the smile on her lips even as she passed him with a nod, hurrying down the street.

“Amelia! Amelia!” the moment he heard those three words being said by that voice, that hated voice, so close to her, it sent him into a panic. “Amelia!” he shouted again, before he heard her back on the phone, breathless but alive.

“Yes, I'm here. Sorry, bumped into someone.”

“Get out of there.” he ordered her, not even listening. He could hear his own pulse, the fear in his own voice, and heard her quicken her pace.

“I'm about to jump in a cab. What's the matter?”

“Remember the man? The one nobody likes to speak of?”

“Yes, yes of course. Jim, wasn't it? Jim Moriarty?” the name sent a chill down Sherlock's spine, and he felt the headache beginning behind his eyes. Once the idea of the man behind the name Moriarty had been a fascinating puzzle – a thrilling chase – but not anymore. Not now that he realized how easily the victims went from being general public to those few he held most dear.

“Yes. Moriarty.” Amy could practically hear John fall out of his chair at the name. “Are you in a cab?” he asked, though he could hear her closing a door to the car even as he asked.

“Yes, just heading to the restaurant. Any requests?”

“Don't even think about going anywhere else but here.” Sherlock growled, and she'd never heard him so upset.

“Sherlock it's really no big deal, it's just around the corner-” she began, but he cut her off. “Come straight here.” He said firmly. “Don't go anywhere else or I swear, Amelia, I will be coming to drag you back myself.” Amelia huffed but she didn't argue, giving Sherlock's address even as she worried about the man on the other end of the phone.

“Are you alright?” she asked tentatively, and heard him suck in a breath.

“He's supposed to be dead, Amelia.”

It was then that she made the connection – Sherlock's death, the man who'd stolen the crown jewels. It was a touchy subject, those events from years before, but she remembered it all now, remember having read about it on the internet one of those many nights she'd spent on Lucy's computer. She let out a breath even as the cab pulled up in front of 221B.

“I'm out front, see you in a mo.” she hung up and went to knock on the door, only to have it fly open before she could even make contact, and found herself being dragged inside and into Sherlock's arms. She gasped in a surprised breath, but allowed him to hold her, wrapping her arms around his neck as the door was slammed closed behind her. She didn't say anything, knowing that for once there was nothing she could say until he said something, anything to let her know how he was feeling. He'd never held her so desperately before, as if he was absorbing the fact that she existed, and all she could do was hold on. Then he was pulling her away, checking her over and finally taking her phone, flipping it over to find what he was looking for.

“Sherlock, what-” but he pressed a finger to her lips, his own expression stoic as he lifted the smallest little metal dot off her phone, crushing it before he returned her phone to her. Then his hands were on either side of her face, forehead pressed against hers as he took deep calming breaths, and oh how this moment reminded her of her Doctor.

“Have you ever seen him before?” Sherlock demanded next, leaning back ever so slightly to look in her eyes, still clearly searching for some sort of injury.

“Yeah, he's the one I mentioned – the one who bought all the cookies on Mrs. Hudson's birthday.”

“So he's been watching you, all this time he's been watching you.” Then he was dragging her up the stairs, despite her protests, and into the room where John stood pacing nervously as he hung up his phone, only relaxing a fraction when the two of them appeared.

“I've called Lestrade. He's coming over to get a statement. He's also bringing a photo, to make sure you saw  _him_ and not someone else.” Sherlock was snatching John's phone away even as he spoke, shoving it at Amy. 

“Call your flatmate. Tell her you need your things. That you'll be staying here.” John could only listen in shock. He knew Amy had spent nights at the flat with Sherlock, but now that he was demanding she move in, something John had never expected to hear pass Sherlock's lips, he realized this was probably the closest to in love he'd ever seen the consulting detective. But it was not a request and so now she refused to bend.

“You can't just order me around because you think I may have seen a dead man.”

“I don't  _think_ you saw him, Amelia, I know. I heard his voice and I know it was him.” he was still shoving the phone at her. “Call her.” In defiance, she brushed his hand away, taking out her own mobile. With a glare she stalked into the kitchen before dialling her flatmates number.

Sherlock watched her until she disappeared before turning to John.

“When did Lestrade say he'd be here?”

“Any minute.” was John's nervous reply, though he tried to sound relaxed. He'd yet to witness it, but he didn't relish being around when Amy and Sherlock finally snapped at each other. Then Amy was back in the room, plucking John's phone from Sherlock's fingers and handing it back to John.

“Call Mary.” she urged him, voice soft, and he gave a grateful smile, disappearing to make the call. Then she turned back to Sherlock, expression guarded.

“Lucy's going to come over after her shift and bring me my suitcase. But that's only if I call her back after Greg gets here and we know for sure that I saw who everyone seems to think I saw.”

His eyes narrowed in a glare, hands fisting by his sides.

“It was him. Of that I have no doubt.”

“And I'd like to double check!”

“Why are you bothering?” He demanded, voice lifting in anger. “If I say it's Moriarty, it is. His voice is not one I'll soon forget.”

“Because maybe you're wrong!” she retorted, voice lifting to a near shout.

“I'm never wrong!” he shouted, and she leaned forward, not willing to be intimidated.

“I'm not just going to accept the fact that I've been bumping into a man who threatened to kill everyone you cared about to convince you to jump off a building and pretend to be dead for three years!” she shouted back, even as her face paled in realization of just what kind of person this man was. It struck her in that moment that sometimes humans were scarier than some of the aliens she'd faced beside the Doctor. He watched the hint of fear begin to snake it's way through her, cheeks paling, eyes widening the slightest fraction with fright, but her voice lost none of it's vigour.

“Amelia-”

“I refuse to be afraid of something I don't even know is real.” she snapped, crossing her arms, a barrier between them, but in the next moment she was hugging him. “Just let me believe that for once you may be wrong. You can't think that it wouldn't be nice, just this once.” he sighed, arms coming around her despite himself. He knew he wasn't wrong, but he couldn't disagree with her; for once he wished he was wrong too.

 

It was late by the time Lestrade had cleared out and Lucy had dropped by for a brief hello, the latter bringing in Amy's large suitcase after it was confirmed that the man she'd seen, twice now, was Moriarty. Her suitcase was sitting at the foot of Sherlock's bed on which Amy sat, leaning against the headboard, knees pulled up against her chest, arms clasped around them and chin resting on top. Sherlock waited as long as he could before going in, but he couldn't stand not knowing what was passing through her thoughts. He found her still sitting curled up on his bed, green eyes wary as they followed his movements those few steps it took for him to sit next to her.

“You were right, of course.” she said, though it wasn't bitter, just tired. He didn't like seeing her like this, without the big flirty smile and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“I'm sorry.” he said, albeit quietly, and she nodded, cracking a smile for him.

“I know.”

He cleared his throat, hand running through his hair in an almost embarrassed fashion. Curious by the motion, Amy felt her smile growing bigger.

“What is it?” she asked, feeling the laughter as he gave her an uncomfortable look before avoiding her eyes.

“While you were with Lestrade I thought you might want to be able to unpack so,” he waved in the general direction of the closet and dresser, still not looking at Amy.

“Did you clear out space for me?” she asked, voice laughing, and when he finally looked at her the smile was back, the flirty tone in her voice matching the laughter in her eyes. He just stood, fixing his shirt though it didn't need fixing, looking around as if looking for an escape. Amy just moved to her knees, hooking her arms around him so she could pull him in for a kiss.

“Thank you.” she said finally and he just nodded, fingers splayed around her waist as he leaned down to kiss her again. They didn't argue again that night, and she never got the chance to unpack.

 

 


	10. Tempers

 The first real fight between them was passionate; brutally honest and unrestrained. It was Christmas Eve, and tired of having a police escort following her everywhere, Amy had given hers the slip before she went to finish up her Christmas shopping. When she'd returned that evening for supper Sherlock wasn't there, but John leapt to his feet, looking like he'd just been given a pardon from the noose.

“Everything alright?” Amy asked, dropping the bags of wrapping paper and the last gifts as she hung up her coat and scarf and slipped off her boots. Then she went and put a bottle of champagne in the fridge, new champagne flutes in the cupboard.

“Sherlock's in a mood because your police escort lost you.” he told her, and on cue the door slammed open, Sherlock's angry steps stomping up the stairs as she returned to her bags. “He's been worried, though that won't be how he shows it.” John told her quickly, even as the door to their flat opened and a glowering Sherlock appeared.

“Hullo dear. Rough day?” she said with a sweet smile, watching John escape even as Sherlock's eyes narrowed on her face.

“The point of having an escort is to keep you safe.” he hissed, and she just rolled her eyes.

“Is that what you call it? I call it stifling.”

The angry growl was meant to intimidate but Amy just picked up the bags she'd brought home, taking them through to the bedroom. She knew Sherlock was on her heels but she ignored him until he made it impossible to do so.

“Moriarty is alive, and he knows that you and I – that we're -”

“Involved?” Amy provided, that same smile on her lips, and Sherlock just scowled.

“Yes. Which makes you a target.”

“I think you should be more worried about how he managed to live than whether or not I keep my escort, yeah?” she suggested lightly, brushing past him to collect the other bag of presents already sitting in the closet and setting it on the floor beside the bed with the others.

“I've been working on that.” he said, frustrated, “But that's beside the point.” Amy just gave a sigh, wondering why he wasn't letting it go.

“Do you have an escort?” she asked, and he frowned.

“No, but-”

“What, you don't need one? You? The one he targets?”

“It's different.” he said with a frown. “I'm brilliant.”

Amy's brows lifted to her hairline.

“Oh, well then. So the rest of us are just idiots who can't use common sense to keep ourselves safe, yeah?”

“That isn't what I meant, Amelia, but if you insist on looking at it like that, then yes.” The look he received was deadly.

“I think you underestimate me, Sherlock Holmes, and the rest of us who you call friends.” she said, angry now, but he shook his head, electing not to make the mistake of claiming he had no friends again.

“No, what I refuse to do is underestimate him ever again. I don't think you having a police escort is unreasonable.”

“Then you get one.”

“I told you-”

“No, you didn't. You used the 'I'm to smart to be caught' excuse, but we both know that isn't true. You're brilliant, yes, but you've been caught before and forced off a building. John's been caught before and strapped into a bomb vest. You really think that if he didn't want us dead he would've found a way to make it happen? He's winding you up!”

“I fail to see how that makes it unnecessary for you to have an escort.”

“From everything I've heard, a police escort won't do much good stopping him, and I'm not a helpless child.”

“No, you're an adult who believes in a mysterious man who calls himself the Doctor and has had to see four different psychiatrists because they all told you he wasn't real, which frankly isn't that big of a stretch considering there is no proof that he actually exists in any records. You nightmare about the places he supposedly took you and yet make him out to be a hero when in reality it seems he's better at nearly getting you killed than keeping you safe. You've been married, divorced, mothered a child who I'm assuming you've left with her father since she's never been in London with you, so does that mean you've left her in the same way your Doctor seems to have left you? Then the first person you attach yourself to is a high functioning sociopath. Seems you have a type, Amelia. Maybe you have a death wish, attaching yourself to such dangerous people, maybe you get a thrill out of it, though it seems more you just don't know how else to live which is a danger in and of itself. Amelia Pond, an impossible girl, or perhaps just mad.” he allowed the hurtful words to flow past his lips, not shouting but cold, and regretting every moment, but he wouldn't take it back, wouldn't apologize. Yet once more she didn't react like he expected. She didn't cry, or run, or beg him to take it back, instead she fought back.

“You know what I see when you lash out like this?” she snapped, coming around the bed to stand in front of him. “I see a man who hides behind his brilliance because he is so, so afraid of letting people in, because he is afraid of being burned. I see a man so afraid of letting people know he cares, that he pushes them away before they even have a chance to be close. But you've failed, do you know why? Because despite your trying to prove that you've got a heart of stone, you're just the opposite. You care too much. You've let people in and now you regret it. You regret that you've got weaknesses. You regret that you've changed and allowed yourself to care because before you could just allow people to hate you, think you were made of stone, and even though it hurt you, it hurt no one else. You could live in peace, free of the guilt and torment that comes with loving other people. I've got news for you, Sherlock, it is _never_ going to go back to that, so you need to stop trying to pretend you're something you're not and start dealing with the fact that maybe, just maybe, the people you care about care just as much about you. That this is as much about you staying safe as me, or John, or anyone else.”

“This has nothing to do with caring about anyone!” He shot back, angry as she continued to jab her finger towards his chest and she made a face of mock surprise.

“No? So you're not trying to make me have a police escort anymore? Fantastic.” she moved to step away, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

“It is not a question of whether you want it anymore, you have one and that's the end of it.”

“That so. Allow me to take away this illusion you seem to have. You can't control me or what I do so stop trying to.”

“I will not allow you to put yourself in harms way just because you don't like not being able to live careless and fancy-free.”

“If this is you trying to prove you don't care, you're doing a piss poor job.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” He shouted only to have her shout right back.

“This has everything to do with it!”

Exasperated, Sherlock threw up his hands.

“For the love of God. Fine!” he shouted, “I care. I care about John, and Molly, and Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. And I care about you. Is that what you to hear? That I care? That it makes me weak? Well I do care and it does make me weak. It makes me reckless and it clouds my mind. _My_ mind! How am I supposed to catch him, to beat him, if I'm to busy keeping you out of harms way because you refuse to have someone around to keep you safe?” he demanded in outrage, and she shrugged.

“Maybe by trusting me to be careful. To take care of myself. I went shopping! Hardly making myself a target.”

“That's what you clearly fail to understand. You are always a target now that he is back.”

“Then I'll be a target. Putting an escort on me just takes the man power from the search. How is that logical?”

“It doesn't have to be logical if it keeps you safe!”

“And here we reach the truth.”

He could only stare at her, this frustrating woman, pulling things so far away from the point, and forcing him to admit things he didn't want to admit. He rubbed a hand over his face, furious, wired, and yet exhausted all at the same time.

“I will lock you in the apartment if I have to.” he snapped, an open threat. “Do not lose the escort again.”

“You don't scare me.” she shot back, “And I don't need a nanny.”

“Clearly you do since you're too foolish to take proper care of yourself.”

“Rich coming from the man who forgets to take care of himself on a regular basis.”

“This. Is. Not. About. Me.”

“If that's what you really think, you're the foolish one.”

“You're being unreasonable.”

“And you're being an idiot.”

They were inches apart, furious at each other, and Sherlock wanted to strangle her, but before he could she was kissing him. He could taste her frustration, Yet for some reason, some inexplicable reason, he didn't stop her, instead her just kissed her back, just as angry.

 

Later on, when they were both laying entangled in the sheets and each other, he met her gaze with a wary look of his own.

“This does not mean I've changed my mind about the escort.” he told her softly, and she just smiled.

“Course not. It also doesn't mean I've changed my mind about not needing one.” he just sighed, hand trailing along her bare back. She moved to kiss him again, before grabbing his shirt from where it had been tossed at the end of the bed, pulling it on before she stood, reaching for the bags of presents.

“What are you doing?” he asked, incredulous, and she just grinned.

“It's Christmas tomorrow! I've got one last present to wrap.” There were already wrapped presents in one bag, and he looked over her shoulder to see what she had left to wrap. There was a small box about the size of her hand with a dark purple bow tie inside, and she used a saturated blue wrapping paper to wrap it, finishing the wrapping with a pretty white bow. Then she put it in the box with the other wrapped presents, not even bothering to label it before she moved to lay back down beside Sherlock.

“Who is that for?” he couldn't help but ask, and she just gave that same wide grin he was now used to seeing when he wouldn't be receiving an answer. It turned out, he only had to wait the night to find out.

 

It was barely nine on Christmas morning when the knock came at the door, and Amy was out of bed in an instant, waking Sherlock in her flurry to get up and dressed. He was left staring after her as she ran from the bedroom, and even as he dressed to follow her, he could hear her footsteps running down the stairs. Dishevelled but decent, he made it to the top of the stairs in time to see Amy opening the door to embrace an older woman with a full head of tight blonde curls who hugged her back fiercely. But it was the next words out of the blonde woman's mouth were what surprised him most.

“Happy Christmas, mother.”

 


	11. Christmas With Melody Pond

 “Mother?”

Both Amy and the blonde looked up to see Sherlock at the top of the stairs, both giving him matching flirty grins.

“Hullo Sherlock.” The blonde said pleasantly, her voice smoky, and Amelia just laughed.

“Melody, you haven't met yet.”

The blonde just lifted a brow before giving another disgraceful smile.

“Oops. Spoilers.” she said with a full-bodied laugh, and Amelia rolled her eyes before tugging the other woman upstairs.

“I bought champagne. Just in case.” Amy was saying, stepping past a stunned Sherlock as the two women moved through to the kitchen.

“I haven't missed a Christmas yet, have I?” the blonde asked, and Amy shook her head.

“Course not.” there was a pause as she popped the cork on the champagne, pouring it into the flutes the blonde had gotten without even having to search around. “Have you visited your father yet?”

“Saw him this afternoon. He had a lady friend over.” the blonde said with that same suggestive tone, and Amy gave a relieved smile.

“Good, I'm glad.”

It was then that River looked up to see Sherlock standing in the kitchen doorway, openly staring.

“Mother, looks like we have some explaining to do.” At the familial term, Sherlock's eyes narrowed in on the buxom blonde.

“Who are you?” he demanded, not believing what he'd previously heard, and River stepped forward to offer her hand and a mischievous smile.

“Professor River Song, but you've probably heard of me by a different name.” Amy gave a bark of laughter that had River's smile widening a fraction as Sherlock accepted the offered hand. “I'm Melody Pond.”

Sherlock froze, looking between Amelia and this new woman in absolute disbelief.

“That's not possible.” he informed her, but River just laughed.

“Oh we _really_ haven't met yet.” River said, turning back to her mother and accepting a flute of the bubbly drink. “Does that mean the Doctor hasn't been by yet?” River asked, a slight frown marring her features.

“Not yet.” Amy said with a shrug, that only had River's frown deepening.

“How long have you been here? In London?” River was sounding almost angry now, and it was Sherlock who answered.

“Three months and eight days.”

River could only gape.

“That stupid, stupid man.” Without a word she was pulling out a small, strange looking device out of her purse, appearing to be a bracelet with a touch screen where a watch face might go. She seemed to type in numbers before shoving it back into her purse, the scowl becoming a smile. “There. We'll see if he can miss that.”

“What did you do?” Sherlock demanded, still not understanding what could possibly be going on, and River just gave him that same sinful smile.

“Texted a boy.”

Sherlock just stared, eyes flicking between River and Amelia, clearly lost.

“It might help if you actually ask the questions so that we can give you the answers you're looking for.” River prompted after a prolonged silence, and Sherlock just scowled at her, causing another smile to spread across her features. On cue, John appeared, yawning as he headed for the kettle.

“Morning Sherlock, Amy.” Then he paused, doing a double take at River who was smiling at him as she sipped at her champagne. “Um, hello.” he looked between a grinning Amy and a scowling Sherlock before looking back at River. “And um, who are you?”

“Professor River Song.” she introduced, and John nodded a greeting, still not completely understanding what was going on. “But just to clear the air, I'm also Amy's daughter, Melody.” John did another double take, nearly scalding himself with water from the kettle.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh really John, it's not that complicated.” Sherlock was suddenly saying. “This Doctor Amelia has been waiting for, he travels through time. How else would Amy have a daughter who appears older than herself with technology far to evolved to have been created in our lifetime?” River laughed, and though Amelia was smiling, there was worry in her eyes.

“On the mark as usual Sherlock.” River complimented, and Sherlock just scowled, looking past her to Amelia. This was the part of her past he'd been missing, and he didn't know whether he was happy to know, or discomforted. Time travel was impossible, and yet he'd just witnessed the numbers River had typed into her device; it had been coordinates, a star date. How could he have missed that all this time? That Amelia's mystery was based on something beyond his scope of reality? And he knew why. Because no man who entrenched himself so deeply in science wanted to admit something he couldn't prove could exist. Even as he focused back in on the other people in the room, River was handing John a flute of champagne.

“Here John, it'll soften the nerves a bit. Really, I can't believe the Doctor has taken this long to find you. Did he forget where he dropped you off?”

“That's part of the problem, Melody.” Amy told her, even as the other two men seemed shocked into silence. “He didn't drop me off here in London, I was literally pulled out of the TARDIS.”

“That's not possible.” River murmured, staring at her mother, and she just shrugged.

“Quite true though. One second I was on the TARDIS, the next I was falling, quite literally, into the streets of London.”

“But how?” River demanded, rushing over to her mother, another device coming out of her purse as she used it to scan Amelia over.

“Dunno really. But it wasn't all bad. I met these two blockheads.” on cue, John blinked out of his shock, draining his glass.

“Time travel.” he muttered, before giving a shrug. “Well can't say it's easy to grasp, but I won't deny you both standing here.” he paused, giving another frown. “What's a TARDIS?”

“An acronym.” Came Sherlock's soft reply. “Time and Relative Dimension in Space, correct?” Noticing the blank look on Sherlock's face, River didn't reply this time, just watched as Amelia moved closer to the man she'd been living with.

“Alright?” she asked quietly, though her usual grin was on her face. It only took one look into her green eyes though for Sherlock to see the nerves there.

“Fine.” her smile dimmed and so he reached out, sighing as he tried to wrap his head around all this new information, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek. “Really, fine.” Her smile brightened and she took his hand, turning back to River.

“Well then, tell me what brilliant adventures you've been having, professor.”

 

John left around noon to visit Mary, but River stayed for the whole day, claiming she wasn't leaving until the Doctor arrived, but in the meantime she answered any and all questions Sherlock tossed her way as if she enjoyed answering every single one of them, though she didn't always give the answer he wanted.

“So we've met already then, since you knew who I was when we arrived.”

“Yes. Though the first time I met you, I had no clue who you were, and you knew everything about me. Now I understand why.”

“So you never meet anyone in the right order?” he asked, and Amelia laughed beside him, head resting on his shoulder as she answered.

“Seems to be the way. First time I met her, I had no idea who she was, other than that she was the mysterious woman the Doctor would marry. You were only a doctor then.” she reminisced happily.

At that, Sherlock was confused all over again.

“So you're the Doctor's wife then?” and River just nodded.

“And I'm his mother-in-law.” Amelia muttered, though it was with false discomfort that brought a shared smile between mother and daughter.

“What happens in the future then? Why do you visit in the future when you don't know who I am?”

“Because it isn't my future, it's my past. It's your future. And I was visiting my mother of course.”

“When does that visit occur?” Sherlock asked, exited now. Did this mean he won? That he caught Moriarty and everyone stayed safe? But her answer just came with a laugh.

“Spoilers.”

Sherlock scowled.

“What's the use of time travel if you can't at least tell us what happens at a certain date? Surely telling us the date on which you visited doesn't ruin much of anything.”

“Because I know you Sherlock, and if I give you so much as a date you'll deduce all the things that could lead to that event on that day which that could disrupt the line of events. Create monumental change.”

“And if you don't tell me, even more horrible things could happen.” River frowned then, looking from Sherlock to her mother.

“Tell me about what's been happening here. What's so important that you so desperately want to know the future?”

“Moriarty is back.” Amy said when it was clear Sherlock wasn't going to say anything, “And Sherlock's afraid that everyone is a target and so on. He's becoming a bit over protective. Little does he know that I've faced worse.” Amy said easily, but even as she spoke, Sherlock watched as River's face paled.

“You know something.” he stated, and Amy broke off to look between the two. “Something bad is going to happen, and you know what it is.” Before he could continue, a sound started, one that started quietly but grew louder by the second, as if air was being sucked in and out fast enough to make an actual sound.

“He's here.” Amy was on her feet in an instant, and though both River and Sherlock stood, neither followed. Instead, River stepped closer to Sherlock, expression serious.

“You're going to hate him.” she said, and neither had to specify that she meant the Doctor. “He is going to say and do things that infuriate you, but no matter what you need to trust him.” Sherlock could only frown, never having seen this sort of intensity from River in everything he'd seen of her that day.

“Why?” he asked, and she just gave a strained smile.

“Because no matter what, he'll do everything he can to save her.”

The idea that Amelia would indeed be in danger sparked fear in him, but River was laying a comforting hand on his arm.

“Isn't telling me this breaking your spoiler rule?” he asked, but she shook her head.

“No, because I know both of you, and I know sometimes both you and him need a push in the right direction.” Though he wanted to argue her on it, this mysterious time travelling River Song, he just nodded, knowing from their short counter that this woman would protect her mother at all costs. “Just trust him, and when you can't do that, trust her.”

Sherlock just nodded, even as he heard the jubilant voices outside.

“Amy!”

“Doctor!”

 


	12. The Doctor

 Amy was running outside even as the sound of the TARDIS landing came to a halt, and she watched, heart in her throat, as the door swung open.

“Amy!” The shout came even as the Doctor appeared, stumbling with his usual grace out of the TARDIS, eyes alighting on her with a thrilled grin as he adjusted his bow tie.

“Doctor.” she leapt forward, arms wrapping around him in a hug, and he held her back tightly.

“Blimey, Amy. I was only gone for fifteen minutes.” At those words she leaned back, the look on her face that told the Doctor he was about to get in trouble.

“Fifteen minutes?”

Recognizing that look from having seen it before in very similar situations, the Doctor stepped back nervously, once more adjusting his bow tie before he pulled out his sonic screw driver, scanning the air and looking at the results. Embarrassed smile on his face, he didn't even have time to say anything before River appeared, Sherlock on her heals, marching right over.

“River!” the Doctor exclaimed happily, only to be slapped across the face. With a pout, he looked back at his wife. “I suppose I probably deserved that, but you're going to have to tell me why.”

“You're late.” she told him in a miffed voice, and he frowned, looking at his watch.

“Really, I was only fifteen minutes.”

“More like over three months, sweetie.”

Eyes wide, he looked back at Amelia who nodded, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed in that same look that spelled trouble.

“Well, at least I made it for Christmas.” he said with a grin, but the look River gave him next had him scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. Then his eyes lit upon Sherlock. “Whose this?” he asked, excited all over again to meet someone knew, and now River and Amy shared knowing grins.

“This is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and Amy's sweetheart.” The grin seemed to slip from the Doctor's face as he turned back to Amy before he could even reach Sherlock.

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked, “I was only gone three months!” he exclaimed as he approached her with a frown, and she shrugged.

“Really Doctor, you make it sound like I went looking for the fun of it. He's more important than that.”

“More important?” the Doctor seemed to sputter, turning back to Sherlock with an ill concealed scowl. “So consulting detective? What's that supposed to be?”

“Interesting question coming from you, Doctor. What does that stand for exactly? Doctor who?”

Amy burst out laughing, amused by the fact that Sherlock had said 'the thing', and both men turned their attention back to her and where she stood with a glowing smile on her face. When she realized they were staring she tried to compose herself to look serious, but she couldn't hide the laughter completely.

“Doctor, behave.” was all she said to the Doctor, and then she smiled at Sherlock, clearly without reprimand which made Sherlock oddly smug. The Doctor just gave Sherlock one more once over before moving back towards Amy, using the sonic to do a quick scan of her before he once more checked it for results.

“Three months, it doesn't make sense!” he exclaimed as she moved to stand beside Sherlock, taking his hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. He didn't need the comfort, but he was grateful that she'd returned to his side though she'd spent all that time waiting for her mysterious Doctor. He took in the image of this man in front of him; tweed coat, bow tie, suspenders, floppy hair, and curious sonic device. He knew now why Amy wore the tweed coat still hung up by the door, and was now glad that he'd chosen to buy her a new one for Christmas. River had been right, he didn't like this Doctor character. His eyes were drawn to the other woman who was giving him a knowing smile, but he just scowled, causing her smile to widen.

“Three months!” The Doctor was still saying, “How is that possible? No particles, no transport beam. How did you end up in London?” River stepped in then, pulling the Doctor towards the TARDIS.

“Perhaps you'll find more answers on the actual scene.” she suggested, and he nodded, watching as Amy allowed herself to be pulled back inside the flat since she'd started shivering from the cold. He frowned after her, keeping silent, when River put a hand on his arm.

“He's good for her you know.” she told him, and the Doctor looked up at her, clearly torn. “He cares for her.” The Doctor didn't answer, just kept staring before turning to go back into the TARDIS, River on his heels. He stood at the console, hands holding his weight as he leaned against, frowning once more in thought.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he mused, “I know that name.” he looked up at River, clearly still in thought. “How do I know that name?”

“Consulting Detective commits Suicide.” River said as if quoting something, and the Doctor's eyes widened as he remembered.

“Sherlock Holmes! The Sherlock Holmes!” No longer brooding, he was grinning again, thrilled once more. “Never without adventure, our Amy.” he said with pride, rushing back out of the TARDIS. With an amused shake of her head, River followed. She could already hear the Doctor inside and could see him shaking Sherlock's hand with excited verve.

“It's such an honour, really, I'm a huge fan.” The Doctor said excitedly, and River shared a knowing look with Amy. She already knew how this would play out, had heard the story from Amy in the future, but she was excited to witness it first hand.

 

Later that evening, River had left with a quick goodbye and another sinful grin, and the Doctor, leaving his TARDIS across the street and wearing his new purple bow tie, had run off to examine the place where Amy had landed those months ago, leaving Sherlock and Amy alone at the flat.

“That was enlightening.” Sherlock finally managed, having had a day of being regaled with tales of adventures taking place outside the solar system, and of alien invasions he'd never even been aware of. He was told of prisoner zero, the Silence, of the Weeping Angels, the Silurians, Sontarans, Daleks, and the headless monks. He was also told the story of River Song, and was well aware that details were left out due to Amy's presence. Sherlock wondered idly if the Doctor had seen River's death, or even been the cause of it, and didn't find it an unlikely notion. He was told of the cracks that had appeared in space and time, and how Amy had met Van Gogh. His mind was reeling with all of these new possibilities, all of this new information, that he was having trouble putting words together. Seeing how much all of this information had thrown him, Amy pressed a cup of tea into Sherlock's hands, offering a bright smile as he took it and lifted it to his lips.

“It is all a bit much.” she said with a knowing smile. “And you haven't even seen the inside of the TARDIS.” Sherlock's gaze turned in the direction of the 1950's blue police call box though he couldn't see it, and he wondered just what the inside would look like. Was it another dimension? He shook his head, taking a sip of tea.

“It's all impossible.” he murmured, though without conviction.

“Nothing's impossible.” she reminded him, perching on the arm of his chair. In a motion very unlike him, he pulled her into his lap, just reminding himself that she did indeed exist, this impossible girl, and that she had not disappeared into a myth with the mysterious Doctor.

“Is he alien?” Sherlock finally asked, and Amy laughed, snuggling in.

“He is. He's a Time Lord from Gallifrey.”

Sherlock gave a snort. “Bit pretentious.” he muttered, and Amy burst out laughing.

“Oh, but you have no idea.” then she paused. “He's the last one.” she told Sherlock quietly, and he didn't interrupt her. “There was a war, the last Time War, and they all died. All but him.” she didn't say more, but it added another piece to the puzzle in Sherlock's mind. He was reminded then of her coat that still hung by the doorway and set her on her feet only to disappear into the bedroom. With a frown she watched him go, only to reappear with a wrapped present. With an excited grin, Amy gathered her own present from under the tree and met him in the middle of the room, offering her gift even as she accepted her own. Curious, Sherlock just tilted the gift this way and that as he waited for Amelia to open hers, and watched in amusement as she dropped to the ground, tearing at the paper with all the excitement of a child. When she'd pulled back the paper she opened the box to find a navy blue coat and pulled it out with a happy smile.

“Oh! It's lovely. And warm.” she slipped it on and stood, showing off the fashionable coat that fell to mid-thigh with a happy grin, not noticing his smirk or how his eyes glanced towards the pockets. There were things in those pockets, useful things that could be used in many situations, and he wondered how long it would take her to notice them. She left the coat on but went to gather the tweed one from by the door, folding the coat that looked so very much like the Doctor's and placing it into the box, pretending not to notice how Sherlock relaxed as she did so. Then she looked up expectantly for him to open his present. Sitting in his chair once again, he carefully pulled back the wrapping paper, amused that Amy seemed just as excited about his gift as she had been about her own. He opened the present to find a box, and inside the box, a DVD. Frowning, he looked up at Amelia who'd moved to hover beside him, but she was frowning too.

“That isn't – I have no idea what that is. I'll just run down and see if maybe Mrs. Hudson grabbed it by accident.” she was still frowning as she left the apartment, but Sherlock didn't even really pay attention, instead he slid the disk into his laptop. The haunting crackle of man-made glitches had Sherlock on his feet, hands clenched in fists even as he stood frozen to the spot, watching as the video started.

“Hello Sherlock!” Came the voice filled with twisted cheer.

“Amy! Guess what! I think I figured out how you fell out of the TARDIS!” The Doctor appeared at the top of the stairs with his usual grin just as Moriarty appeared on the screen with an eerie grimace that was supposed to resemble a smile.

“Did you miss me?” the recording asked, and the Doctor approached, grin replaced by a look of cautious curiosity.

“Who is that?” he asked, stopping beside Sherlock to look at the grinning face with the empty eyes, glitching on the screen.

“Moriarty.”


	13. Kidnapped

 The Doctor and Sherlock stood side by side as the image of Moriarty was replaced by a recording of Amelia, smiling as she worked in the candy shop, unnerving both of them that this recording existed without her knowledge.

“Once upon a time there was a fairytale girl who happened to live in a fairytale world. She had a Doctor who travelled through time,” a poorly drawn image of the doctor and his TARDIS appeared, fading from the screen, “and the consulting detective who battled crime.” Another poorly drawn image of Sherlock appeared this time, glitching across a cut out version of London. Moriarty's twisted laugh came through and Sherlock felt his jaw lock as he tried to contain his anger so he wouldn't miss a single detail of the video. “But Poor little Amelia Pond, her heart was split in two, could she travel with the Doctor? Would Sherlock come too?” Again it was a recording of Amelia, this time from when she'd been shopping the evening before, a small part of Sherlock's mind telling him he'd been right to want her guarded by an escort at all times. “Poor, undecided, Amelia Pond.” It turned back to Moriarty, giving another smile, though it was no longer the smile for a story, but a smile of triumph. “But don't worry boys, I'm making it easy. I've taken your dear Amelia.” A link appeared in the video and Sherlock clicked it, watching as it took him to a website where there was another video. In this one they could see Amelia with her brand new coat on being grabbed from behind a by large figure, hand put over her mouth as she was dragged away.

“Amelia!” Sherlock was running even before the words had left his mouth and he opened the door at the top of the stairs only to see the door at the bottom standing open, drag marks in the snow outside. He moved back to the video, furious, and watched as the video moved from Amy's kidnapping back to Moriarty.

“I'll be seeing you, Sherlock, and you too Doctor. Happy Christmas.”

Sherlock moved to pace the room, mind spinning with possibilities, wondering why Moriarty would take Amelia and not just kill her. Not that he wasn't grateful she was alive, but this sort of kidnapping didn't seem right, it wasn't the Moriarty he remembered. When he turned back to look at the Doctor, the other man was standing in the same place, but there was no light left in him. Instead he was impossibly dark, as if he'd absorbed the shadows.

“I'll bring her back.” The Doctor said in a low voice, turning those dark, angry eyes on Sherlock. “I won't lose her. Not Amy. Never Amy.”

Sherlock could only glare, his anger at Moriarty twisting into anger at the Doctor.

“If you hadn't dropped her London in the first place this would _never_ have happened.” Sherlock said, voice equally as low, and the Doctor just lifted his chin, glaring right back.

“I didn't drop her, she was pulled out. But do not blame me for your enemies. If you hadn't become to big, to famous, you wouldn't have attracted his attention in the first place. Being near you put her in just as much danger.” The Doctor's words were cutting, but he knew the feel of the cut they caused well.

Sherlock stepped closer, sneer on his lips.

“Do you think I don't know about Demon's Run?” he asked, and the Doctor stiffened. He'd taken the words from one of Amy's nightmares, the ones she couldn't remember but continued to have and the look of regret in the Doctor's eyes told him everything he needed to know. “Yes Doctor, I know of Amelia's nightmares, the ones you're to blame for. Tell me, why didn't you save her from those?” Rather than back down, the Doctor just seemed to grow taller, facing the detective.

“Do not speak of things you could not possibly understand.” The Doctor said in a dangerous voice, but then it was as if an idea came to him and he lightened a bit, some of that darkness fading as he turned back to the computer. “All I have to do is find the source of the feed.” he said, voice lighter as well, sonic screwdriver appearing in his hand as he examined the laptop. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

“Please. The source could come form any number of places. What use would it be to you?” The Doctor chose to ignore him, but he pressed on. “It would be more useful to see where the disk itself was burned, because whoever created it must know something. Even dead they're more useful to us then where the source of the feed.”

“One step at a time, Sherlock, don't get ahead of yourself.” Then he began typing, hands moving incredibly fast as he seemed to tear a hole through the internet. “Ah, there it is. Well then, off we go. Come along, Sherlock.” He was off in a flash, stopping at the top of the stairs to look back with a curious smile. “Well are you coming or not?” he asked, and Sherlock just scowled, following though a million objections were swirling in his mind. River's words were still fresh in his mind though, telling him no matter how much he disliked the Doctor, he needed to trust him, and so he grabbed his coat on the way. He followed the Doctor down the stairs and towards the blue box, but when the doctor pushed in the doors, stepping in with a knowing grin over his shoulder, Sherlock just looked around in mild fascination. He actually found it fairly incredible, endlessly interested in the workings of the strange ship, but he would never admit that to the Doctor.

“Another dimension, just as I thought.” he said, and the Doctor rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion.

“Nobody likes a know it all.” The Doctor stated, running around the console, pressing buttons, flipping switches, and winding cranks.

“Except Amelia, you mean.”

The Doctor just looked up, and there was something like a knowing sadness in the way he frowned. Then the centre of the console started moving up and down and Sherlock felt the whole floor move, lurching forward to grab the console for balance. He didn't miss the Doctor's smirk, but then he was talking, creating a personal dialogue. It was clear the Doctor would talk whether he had an audience or not, so Sherlock chose to listen seeing it was on a subject he found fascinating. The subject of Amelia.

“Right then! Off to find Amy. You know I met Amy when she was seven, when she was praying for someone to fix the crack in her wall. Big blue box fell out of the sky, raggedy man fell out of the box and what did she do? Invited me in! Asked if I'd been sent about the crack in her wall. Course the TARDIS, poor girl, was changing too, see I'd just got my new face, and it was her turn.” he stroked the console lovingly. “So I had to go back to her, my TARDIS, said I'd be back in five minutes and ended up back in twelve years. Twelve years! She hit me over the head with a bat of some sort. Forget what kind.” The idea of the Doctor being hit over the head being particularly amusing at that moment, Sherlock returned the smile the Doctor was giving. “But by then she'd changed it to Amy, said Amelia was too fairytale.” The smile dimmed a bit, still fond but a bit sad. “I remember telling her what a brilliant name it was, when she was seven of course, how it was fantastic because it was fairytale.” There was a sigh, and Sherlock hated that the Doctor was the reason she'd wanted something more tangible and less fantastical for her name, because the more fantastical suited her perfectly, defying what he believed of people. On top of that, he found the sound of 'Amelia' much more charming than Amy. “The girl who waited.” The Doctor continued, not noticing Sherlock's musing. “Did you know Rory waited over two thousand years for her outside of a box? Just to make sure she was safe. She was locked in the Pandorica, right before the world exploded. Bit complicated that. I died, or well didn't die but was erased, and she brought me back on her wedding day just by remembering. Course turned out River had given her the diary as a reminder.” he laughed, and now Sherlock realized the rambling was to keep himself from thinking to much. He understood that. “Remarkable, she is. And ginger! I've always wanted to be a ginger. Never quite works out though.” They came to a sudden halt that nearly knocked Sherlock off his feet and the Doctor was off again, dashing towards the door. “Just a quick hop in space and a small jump back in time, we should have arrived just before they do.” The Doctor opened the door, Sherlock on his heels, to find themselves on the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Sherlock went still and the Doctor just turned with an apologetic look already on his face. Then the phone in the box rang.

 


	14. Tea with Moriarty

  Amy found herself shoved into a chair across from the empty eyed man she now knew to be Moriarty, and turned to glare at the man who'd shoved her with murder in her green eyed gaze. When she finally looked at Moriarty, who was openly staring at her, the anger in her eyes hadn't dimmed.

“Why've you brought me here?” Amy demanded rather than asked, looking around the room for some way to escape, or call for help, but there was none. The man who'd grabbed her from the flat had retreated to the doorway, closing the door behind him so her and Moriarty were alone, but she assumed he would be stationed on the other side of the door. She'd been in a guarded room before.

“Because Sherlock doesn't find you boring.” Again those empty eyes stared at her as Moriarty tilted his head much like a bird of prey, still staring. “I've also heard quite a lot about your Doctor, been wanting to meet him for quite some time.”

“How do you know about the Doctor?” she asked, rising to wander around the room, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“I met an old friend of his, traded me something useful. Mind, the Doctor, he had a different face then, with better hair. Do like the bow tie though.” The red dots that meant guns appeared on her and she saw them in the reflection of the window. Looking down at herself, she just turned a glare towards Moriarty, watching as he waved her back towards the chair with the tea pot, right before he poured two cups. “Sit down, Amelia.”

As always when she was ordered to do something, her chin came up, but when those cold eyes moved back to her she moved back over and dropped into the chair with a scowl.

“I still don't see why I'm here. Thought you were the kill first taunt later type.” he blinked in surprise at her brazen words, before the slightest smirk twisted its way onto his features, making her want to shiver. She just sat still, glaring as he passed her a cup of tea. She took it, only because it seemed she had no other option, but then just held it in her lap.

“Interesting.” Was all Moriarty said, and Amy found herself pouting, rising to wander again, having forgotten already that she'd been told to sit.

“Where are we? Seems posh, but not surprising considering the suit. And there aren't any mirrors, makes it feel a bit claustrophobic in here. Even with the windows. And what's the point of bookshelves if their not actually filled with proper books?” she glowered at the shelves filled with what looked like broken technology and other odds and ends. Once more she dropped back into the chair, though Moriarty had stayed silent while she'd rambled and she hadn't been threatened. She just didn't like the room. She sat with a pout, finally sipping at the tea before setting it back on the table. “You still haven't told me why I'm really here.” she finally prompted at last, and Moriarty just lifted a brow, taking another sip of tea.

“I want to know what makes you special.” he finally said, voice fluctuating at odd moments so that he sounded both calm and erratic at the same time. It sent a chill down her spine she couldn't hide.

“Nothing. I'm just me.”

Moriarty's scowl was so instant, his anger so suddenly apparent, that Amy jumped in her chair.

“Don't be so _predictable._ ” he said, shouting the last word. Hands in fists, Amy shouted right back.

“I don't have to impress you!”

The scowl on Moriarty's face instantly became a Cheshire smile.

“Ooooh. I like you. You've got a temper.”

“That's not all I've got, you-”

“Ah, ah, ah.” she was scolded like a child, but the glint in his eyes had her snapping her mouth shut rather than shouting more. “No need to go overboard, Amelia. Wouldn't want to strain you before your performance.”

At that, Amelia couldn't help but pale, then she was scowling again, on her feet, hair flying.

“I will not be your puppet, ya got that?”

That same slow smile spread over his features as he glanced at the clock on the wall.

“They should be there now.” he noted, pulling a cellphone out of his pocket, and Amy scowled.

“Where?”

“Where he fell of course.” The words were said with cruel intent and that gloating smirk that Amy wanted desperately to smack of his face. He dialled a number, eyes never leaving her face as it rang. Then he was putting it on speaker, just as it was answered, setting it on the small tea table.

“How did you get a number to a phone that shouldn't ring?” Came the Doctor's easy reply, though Amy knew differently. She could hear the strain in his voice and wondered if Sherlock was standing there with him, wishing she could be there with him even if it was only to watch from a distance. There in a place that held so much pain and so much meaning.

“A mutual friend gave it to me.” Moriarty said simply, and the Doctor gave a short, sharp laugh.

“We don't have any mutual friends.” The sound of the sonic followed by the soft thud of the TARDIS door being pushed open, told her they were now inside where they could both hear the conversation. Then Amy heard Sherlock's voice, relaxing in a way she couldn't when it had only been the Doctor. She'd been worried about him, Sherlock, and hearing his voice, calm and steady, calmed her.

“Moriarty.”

“Sherlock!” It was said with such relish that Amelia just glared again.

“Tell me where Amelia is.” She wanted to shout she was right there, but she didn't know where there was so she kept silent, hoping to gain a clue from allowing Moriarty to talk. He seemed the type to tell you without telling, something she was well used to with the Doctor. So instead she allowed herself to feel the flow of warmth at Sherlock's demanding tone. Nothing was more expressive about him, she found, than the minute distinction between tones. This one meant he wanted her back or there would be consequences. She smirked, and Moriarty noticed because his next smile was sharp.

“I wonder, Sherlock, how much would you give up for this one? How far would the great Sherlock Holmes go to save his Amelia Pond?”

“As far as necessary.”

“Would you kill someone?”

“If necessary.” Sherlock replied, ignoring the Doctor's sharp look. Again, seeming amused, Moriarty smiled. When he didn't say anything, she heard Sherlock release a breath.

“Who?”

Amy felt herself go cold.

“Sherlock, no!” she shouted, reaching for the phone, but Moriarty just gave her a bored look, drawing a gun from inside his coat. He aimed it at her but she was to furious to care.

“You don't scare me!” she snapped, voice loud and angry. “With your gun and your threats and mind games. You think you're so clever but you're not! You're just bored! And completely mad!” Even as she shouted, the man from outside returned, grabbing her from behind and starting to haul her away. “Oi! Let me go you big oaf! Doctor you better watch out for him!” Not a request but a demand. “Don't do anything reckless Sherlock or I swear I'll -” She was cut off as she was yanked out the door, Moriarty watching the scene in fascination. Without saying a word, Moriarty took another sip of tea, and on the other end of the line Sherlock had his hands in tight fists.

“She's not average at all.” Came Moriarty's reply after the long pause, and Sherlock could only grit his teeth in irritation. He cursed Amy's temper in that moment, though he appreciated it, he cursed that she'd drawn someone else's interest, someone as twisted as Moriarty. He'd been hoping the other would just get bored and let her go, but now that didn't seem to be likely. She wasn't afraid enough, and he knew Moriarty liked his victims scared.

“No,” The Doctor cut in then, seeing that Sherlock was deep in thought. “She's not, is she? But that's where your problem is.” He was already dancing around the console with what could only be a mad glint in his eyes. “Because Amelia is anything but ordinary and because of that she's not only got one, but two absolute genius' who will stop at nothing to get her back.” The Doctor slammed his hand down on a button and the centre of the TARDIS console started to move again. “You thought you'd won just by taking her, but I'll tell you one thing, you haven't even come close.” He pointed the sonic at the ceiling and with only a brief click of a button the call cut off. Then the Doctor turned to Sherlock, frowning.

“You were prepared to kill someone.” The Doctor said slowly, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“And?”

The Doctor shook his head, the frown disappearing and being replaced with wariness.

“I don't approve of killing.” Was all he said at first, and then after a sigh, continued. “But everything has its place. I suppose I -” Again he broke off before meeting Sherlock's gaze with his own. “Timelines are messy, confusing things. Timey-wimey, spacey-wacey and all that. I never expected to find Amy with someone.” he said bluntly. “Wasn't prepared in the slightest. But she -” He swallowed. “She seems to truly care about you.” The Doctor admitted, though it seemed to pain him. “And I daresay you return those feelings.” he broke off and seemed relieved, but Sherlock just lifted a brow.

“Was there a point to all that Doctor? Or were you stating the obvious to hear yourself speak.” The Doctor chuckled before giving a shake of his head.

“I think you're my first companion who doesn't like to talk about feelings.” The Doctor said as they began to land, already running towards the door. “And I was just starting to get used to properly returning those chats!”

“I am not your companion.” Sherlock muttered, following after. “I am much to brilliant to be a simple companion.”

“Oi! I've had brilliant companions! You've met River, haven't you?”

“Yes, your wife. Very much her mother's daughter in some ways, but -”

“Yes, I know. No physical markers of familial resemblance.” he was out the doors and in a maintenance room, Sherlock following on his heels in irritation. He hated how the Doctor seemed to know everything when he couldn't see anything.

“Why?” Sherlock finally demanded, and the Doctor looked up in embarrassment.

“Well,” he coughed. “You see when Amy and Rory – well – it was their wedding night when they – when River was -”

“Conceived?” Sherlock provided, amused by the Doctor's discomfort.

“Hmm. Yes. Well. We were on the TARDIS sort of drifting in the time vortex and well,” he ran his hands through his hair as he began reorganizing all the cables in the room. “River became like me. Gained some regeneration energy. Course she used a lot of it when she saved me after trying to murder me – but well – long story short – she was born looking like her parents of course but River is a couple of regenerations later. Dunno how many.”

“Regenerations?”

Pausing in his work, the Doctor just walked over, grabbed Sherlock's face in his hands, and smashed their heads together.

“Blimey! That hurt!” The Doctor muttered before going back to work, rubbing his sore forehead. Sherlock just stood frozen as the principle of what a Time Lord was flashed through his mind, along with the Doctors many faces.

“Eleven different faces.” and Sherlock couldn't keep the awe from his voice.

“That's me. The Eleventh Doctor.” Then he made a noise somewhere between excited and triumphant that just had Sherlock sliding a cool look in his direction. The Doctor seemed to do everything in extremes, and though Sherlock could understand it, it irked him at the same time. If John was there, he would probably be making some sarcastic comment about how Sherlock disliked the Doctor so much because they were similar in many ways, but Sherlock perished the thought. Though he missed his companion blogger on this adventure, he didn't want to draw similarities between himself and the Doctor.

“What exactly are you hoping to accomplish Doctor?” Sherlock finally asked, and the Doctor just grinned at him, earning another scowl.

“I'm about to broadcast wide to all of Europe that Moriarty is alive. How do you think he'll fancy that?”

Sherlock could only stare in disbelief.

 


	15. Our Amy?

 Amy stood with her arms crossed, eyes shooting daggers at the giant guarding her. The room she'd been in with Moriarty must have once been an office of some sort at one point because the room she was in now was like a waiting room, and it was boring her to death. She'd thrown a fit when they'd left, kicking and shouting, but the giant had just dumped her in the corner, barely even reacting. So now she just stood glaring, knowing she had no way of getting by but not wanting to give up. Then the door slammed open and Moriarty stepped out, smoothing his tie, expression taught with irritation.

“What, did they not pay you enough attention?” she asked, and Moriarty's cruel gaze zeroed in on her.

“Your Doctor doesn't fear me, or what I am capable of. _He_ hung up on _me._ ” Amy couldn't help herself, he sounded like such a petulant child, and she was giggling behind her hand before she could help herself.

“Aren't exactly giving a good reason to have a chat.”

“You're safety isn't a good enough reason? It was for Sherlock.”

Amy just scoffed.

“He doesn't have to worry about me, I can take care of myself.”

All the anger seemed to flee from Moriarty's features only to be replaced by the strange, twisted glee.

“Can you really? Amelia Pond – will your fairytale Doctor save you again? Will your detective? Or will you become the heroine of your own story?” there was a mad sort of excitement in his eyes. “Or will the big bad wolf eat little red along with her loved ones?”

Amelia just gave a bark of laughter.

“And you're supposed to be the big bad wolf?” she scoffed. “I think you're more suited to the granny of that story. Starts off sick and ends up dying. Or maybe one of the three little pigs who gets eaten by the wolf. Or maybe -” he moved so quickly she barely had the chance to step back and he still managed to be right in her personal space, eyes boring into hers.

“I think, maybe, we should test this theory of yours. You can save yourself, can you? I think I'd like to see you try. I'd like to see the world _burn_ when dear old Sherlock and the Doctor realize you've managed to get yourself killed – or worse, you become mad like me.” She knew he was saying it to scare her, wanted her to be afraid, she knew that, and yet she couldn't help but feel the slick feel of fear settling over her skin. Moriarty nodded to the man behind her and he grabbed her once more, preparing to haul her off again when sound exploded around them, and Amelia gave Moriarty a fierce grin as they both recognized the voice immediately.

“Good evening London!” The Doctor's voice boomed, seeming to come from everywhere. “Lovely weather you've got here tonight. Not to chilly, not to hot.”

“Doctor.” Sherlock muttered, far enough from the microphone that his voice wouldn't be heard, and the Doctor gave a sheepish look, noticing his companion was clearly at the end of his patience.

“Right. I've got a message. To the government, to the media, to anyone who will listen.” he paused for effect, tossing Sherlock a wink. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Moriarty is _alive_.” he paused again and it was as if the world came alive around them. Voices buzzing in the streets, phones ringing, texts flying through the air. Yet the Doctor continued. “Moriarty, The Consulting Criminal, the one who organized every murder and every disastrous event from behind his legions of followers, is now back, and I'm very sorry to say, is back for blood. But this time, this time I'm very sorry to say, he doesn't only want the blood of one man, but of all of you.”

Moriarty was seething, unable to believe the audacity of this Doctor to broadcast such news to everyone who could possible hear, and turned that seething gaze on Amelia. The Doctor had made the whole of the population afraid of him, but more than that, he'd made them hyper aware, so that they'd be searching for his face in every passing stranger. Then his anger smoothed out, and Amelia could only stare.

“He's made a very big mistake.” Moriarty said with a disappointed smile. “If he thought that would stop me from letting you be hurt, he was very, very wrong.” The last thing Amelia saw before everything went black was that smile turning triumphant.

 

“Do you think it worked?” The Doctor asked excitedly, and Sherlock just glared at him.

“What exactly would you mean?” he asked, tone low and angry. “The alerting of the public and sending them into a panic?” Sherlock demanded now, voice getting louder. “Or that you may just have pushed Moriarty into a corner, feeling he now needs to prove himself?” Sherlock was ranting now, furious with the Doctor's carelessness. “He thought he was winning, and that kept Amelia safe. Now you,” he grabbed the Doctor by the lapels and shook him. “You've made him angry, but worse, you've humiliated him in a sense. Outing his secret so easily. He's going to punish us for that, in the one way he knows it will hurt.” Sherlock released the Doctor and turned away in disgust. “River was wrong. You aren't trustworthy. You're going to get her killed.” Sherlock's voice was now so low, so cold, that it set the Doctor back. “If _anything_ happens to her, Doctor, I will make you pay.” With that he strode back towards the TARDIS, opening the doors with a shove.

“Oi! What're you doing?” The Doctor called, following after once he'd shaken himself from the shock of Sherlock's outburst.

“I am doing what we should've done in the first place. I'm going to find out who burned that disk and force them to talk.” Though normally the Doctor would've picked up on the insinuation of those words, he was stuck on what Sherlock had said before.

“Did you say River told you to trust me?” he asked, and though Sherlock sent him a deadly glare, he answered.

“Yes.”

“Well what else did she say?” The Doctor prompted, and Sherlock spun on him.

“I really don't have time for this.” Sherlock growled. “Amelia could be paying for your recklessness this very second, and I will not waste even the smallest fraction of time indulging in your need for an ego boost.”

Scowling, the Doctor just shook his head.

“No, no you don't understand.” The Doctor said, now obliging and moving around the console to set the TARDIS in motion. “I need to know exactly what River said. This could be the clue we need.” Though Sherlock scowled, he remembered River's other words: _“You're going to hate him. He is going to say and do things that infuriate you, but no matter what you need to trust him.”_ He'd asked her why and known the instant he did that his Amelia, the one who made him feel most human, was going to be in danger. _“Because no matter what, he'll do everything he can to save her. Sometimes both you and him need a push in the right direction.”_

“She told me you would infuriate me. She was right.” The Doctor scowled but waved him on.

“And? And? What else did she say?”

“That no matter what you'd do everything you could to save her, to save Amelia.”

“Well she's not wrong, of course.” The Doctor grumbled, and Sherlock just cast him a sideways glance, stepping back so the Doctor could work his TARDIS.

“What is she to you?” Sherlock asked, no longer being able to hold back the question. He could see the Doctor loved her, he just couldn't see _how_. The Doctor didn't know how to answer and so at first didn't answer at all. Then he flipped a switch and it was like it held them in place.

“Why?”

“Why does any man ask another man about his feelings for a woman?”

“But you aren't just any man. That's why Amy likes you.”

“We aren't moving.” Sherlock said, trying to turn the subject away from himself, but the Doctor just nodded, leaning against the console with his arms folded.

“Held in the time vortex.” was the answer, shaken off with a wave. “So, why do you ask?”

“Because it doesn't make sense to me.” Sherlock finally snapped with a scowl, and the Doctor sighed, messing up his floppy hair as he seemed prone to do every time he thought about something.

“She's special.” was all he said when he finally spoke, and Sherlock just stared in disbelief.

“That's all? 'She's special'? This isn't grade school, Doctor. Give a proper answer.”

“I don't have one.” The Doctor's voice was aggravated. “And if you're so knowledgeable in this area, please, tell me, just exactly how do you feel about our Amy?”

“Our Amy?” The Doctor only scowled further though Sherlock knew he was getting somewhere. “As I recall, you did marry her daughter.”

“And Amy married King Henry VIII on her wedding anniversary one year.” he said with a wave, though it was really meant as a dismissal of the subject rather than of the marriage itself. Sherlock wouldn't allow it though.

“If that is an attempt to say your marriage to River is as accidental and unimportant as that example-” Sherlock began instead, though he knew the Doctor hadn't meant his words in that sense, and the Doctor cut him off with a scowl.

“I'd never say such a thing.”

“Then what is Amelia to you?”

“My best friend.”

Sherlock made a frown of disbelief. Could it possibly be that easy? Seeing his frown, the Doctor rubbed the back of his head awkwardly again.

“Well there was this once, the night before her wedding – but then I took her and Rory travelling _together_ and everything got better and they got married. Well for a while anyways. Then they went back to the night of the wedding and followed through and that's when she remembered me and brought me back to life. Of course then they still came travelling with me – but then they -”

“Got a divorce.”

“She never would tell me exactly why. Said it was 'real life' and that it just happened sometimes while I was away.” he winced at that and Sherlock felt that brief surge of superiority that he knew the reason, and had only had to ask the once. “But in the end, she is my best friend. I am a Time Lord, we don't have a specific life expectancy. Humans do. It doesn't end well.”

“You would know?”

“I would.” The Doctor gave a sigh, this one clearly pained. “There was a woman once, young, brilliant, full of life. Her name was Rose Tyler.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was pulled into another universe. Then fought her way back to me and – well another me was created and he was human and just as troubled as I had been when she first met me. He needed her, just like I needed her, but he would age with her. So I sent them back to the parallel universe together.”

“She's happy then?”

“I like to think so. No way for me to know since it's another universe and visiting could destroy both universes. But yes, I like to think she's happy.” He flipped the switch so that they were in motion again, and Sherlock just approached again.

“What about Amelia?”

“Amelia was never meant to be mine.” The Doctor finally responded, in a tone that ended the conversation. Then the TARDIS landed. “We're here. Ask your questions, but make it quick.” The Doctor watched Sherlock stalk out of the TARDIS, door slamming closed behind him, and couldn't help but wonder. What would Amy do when they found her? Would she continue travelling with him, through all of time and space? He thought back to the phone call, when Amy had ordered him to keep Sherlock safe, and shook his head. No, if he knew anything about his Amy, it was that she must love the consulting detective, and it almost broke his hearts, thinking he may have to leave her again. Resolutely, he straightened his bow tie, and went to join Sherlock. No matter what Amy would choose, River had been right, he would always do everything he could to save her.


	16. Buried Alive

Amy opened her eyes to find her coat pressed tight around her, but when she tried to move to loosen it, realized it wasn't just her coat, but whatever was imprisoning her. Panic was immediate. She hated small spaces, hated them more than anything else in the entire universe, because nothing else could make her as afraid as being trapped in a small space. She could feel the tears on her cheeks and managed to wiggle around enough to bring her arms up, feeling the walls of what contained her. It felt soft, like silk, yet hard beyond that. She could barely suppress a sob at her first thought – coffin. Not wanting to hyperventilate, she took deep, slow breaths, counting them out, imagining Sherlock's violin playing one of those slow, melodic tunes she'd already guessed he composed himself. The thought brought a smile to her face, managing to calm her enough to think. It was then that she felt the lump in her pockets. With a burst of hope, she wiggled around again, ignoring the panic at being in such a small space as her hand found the nearest pocket, and felt the surge of happiness when her fingers closed around a familiar shape. She pulled the flashlight out of her pocket and clicked it on, breathing in the relief of no longer being in the dark. She could feel the other lumps in her pockets but decided to wait to see what was in them. First she wanted a look around. She was partially standing, she realized, laying back on an angle. Aiming the flashlight around, she searched for the edges of her small prison, and found the hinges on one side, as she'd feared, and a seam on the other. So she was indeed in a coffin. Gently, she pushed against the lid, wondering if it would be left open, and though it pushed ever so slightly, it didn't fully open, the muffled sound of chains clinking meeting her ears. Chained in, she thought, how original. She'd be disappointed if she wasn't still terrified. She moved a bit more, testing the lid bit by bit and looking along the edge for some sign of what was outside. All she could see was daylight. Using her knee, she propped the lid open that slightest bit so the natural light spilled in, putting her flashlight away as she searched her other pockets. She found in one an envelope with lock picking tools, and nearly laughed. Only Sherlock would find those a necessary addition to ones pockets. Then she reached for the next pocket, and found a phone. This time she nearly cried. Before she could use it, she was moving, coffin being rolled along and lifted into the back of the car. The jolt had her dropping the phone, but she was beating at the box now, voice lifted in a shout.

“Oi! Let me out! I know you can hear me! Let me out!” she shouted even as the car started to drive, and then the box was lowered into what she could only assume was the ground. Her throat was hoarse, and it was then that she heard Moriarty's voice through a set of speakers right next to her head.

“I'm going to feed oxygen into your coffin for the next twelve hours or so. If I get bored I might shorten the time, but that'll all depend on how dear Sherlock and the Doctor are doing. Your Doctor really isn't as clever as he thinks he is, considering how rash his first move was in comparison to Sherlocks. Always so reliably intelligent, our Sherlock. Tracked down the man who sent them my movie. Of course he's already dead.” there was a brief pause and that was when she both heard and felt it, the first shovel of dirt being dropped onto the coffin.

“You said it yourself.” Amy managed softly, “If I die, the world might burn, but aren't you afraid they'll burn you with it?” she asked, and Moriarty gave a thoughtful hum.

“Interesting thought. Might dig you back up in a couple of minutes, or hours, or might let the air run out. Haven't quite decided. Like I said, it'll depend on how your boys act. If the Doctor gets anymore of his foolish ideas, however;” suddenly the air was gone, she felt the suction and then found herself fighting for breath, even as she panicked at the sound of dirt landing in a steady rhythm above her. Then the air came rushing back and she gasped for breath, lungs dragging in breath after pained breath. “I think you understand.” The sound of a phone ringing came through the speakers and she heard Moriarty answer it before clearly returning to address her. “Duty calls. Goodbye Amelia.” his voice disappeared and the sound of dirt hitting the coffin continued, though this time it didn't shake the coffin in the same way, and she realized she was probably almost finished getting buried. That thought had panic shooting through her again. She started pounding at the box again, fighting against the chains and dirt holding her in, fighting against her panic and fear. She couldn't fight forever though, and eventually fear won over, and for a short while, Amelia allowed herself to cry.

 

The giant man they'd discovered to be the one who'd kidnapped Amelia from 221B Baker street was unconscious at Sherlock's feet when his phone rang. The'd been led to this man from the dead body of the one who'd made the video for Sherlock, and the Doctor was crouching over the large man, a frown on his face, but he said nothing as he scanned the injuries he'd just watched inflicted on the only recently unconscious man. He didn't feel bad for him, he would feel nothing but the worst sort of pity for anyone that would be so stupid as to remove someone so important from the lives of those such as himself and Sherlock, but he felt _something_. The man had told them nothing other than that Moriarty would have 'the redhead' good and scared within the hour, and had said it with a laugh, but the Doctor hadn't believed him. Not until he heard Sherlock's phone ring. The instant the shrill sound filled the quiet room, the Doctor's hearts sank.

Sherlock answered the phone on speaker, and the first sound to come through was the sound of Amelia crying. He closed his eyes, felt the Doctor now hovering directly in front of him.

“Didn't take long to frighten her.” Moriarty said lightly, the higher quality of his voice telling Sherlock that Amelia's voice was secondary – through a separate feed of some sort, like a speaker or another phone. “Interesting phobia for someone whose spent years getting in and out of the small police box, never imagined her to be claustrophobic, but it suits me well in any case.” There was the soft thud of Amelia hitting whatever it was that had her enclosed.

“Let me out. Please let me out.” her voice was soft, and it grated at Sherlock's nerves, to hear her so vulnerable.

“This is punishment, Doctor.” Moriarty stated, proving Sherlock's earlier words true. “I do not threaten well, and she will be my proof of that.” there was a pause and the sound of Amelia's fear was instantly cut off with no separate tones. Speaker then, Sherlock assumed. “How long does it take for someone in her condition to pass out from lack of oxygen? Buried alive with only the air left in the coffin keeping her alive. How long does she have, Sherlock? I reckon she'll be lucky to get an hour.”

“If she dies-”

“That is the question, isn't it? What will happen if the precious Amelia dies?” Sherlock remained silent, looking up at the Doctor who looked to be verging on furious; jaw tensed, eyes narrowed.

“I have a better question – what happens if you die?” The Doctor asked, and there was a burst of laughter on the other end.

“Catching on, are we? What do you think will happen?” Then they heard a rhythm, a four beat rhythm that had the Doctor paling.

“Not possible.” he murmured, but the beat just repeated itself.

“Let's play a game. Solve the puzzle, and I'll give her some more air.” With that, Moriarty hung up. Sherlock immediately looked at the Doctor.

“What does it mean? That rhythm. It isn't a word. Or a phrase or any sort of known code.” Sherlock stated, his mind having already processed the possibilities.

“It's a madness.” The Doctor said, fingers tapping the rhythm against his thigh. Once more, without warning, the Doctor grabbed Sherlock's face and smashed their heads together, reeling back from the pain, and once again images and memories flooded through Sherlock's mind. _The Master_ – the name beat its way into his thoughts on that same four beat rhythm, paired with a mad grin and equally mad laughter. He saw the Master regenerate then die, then be reborn from death. Then he watched him fall into the Time Lock with the rest of the Time Lords and Gallifrey. Most of all he felt the fear, and the loneliness of the Doctor, clouding his thoughts with the pain and anger of the tenth Doctor, and he realized that this was the day he became this newest Doctor; these were the events that changed him once more. Sherlock also knew that none of those things were helpful in that moment.

“If the Master is in the Time Lock with with other Time Lords, how could he have met Moriarty? Even with his time as Prime Minister – you were there, and even so that time was erased.”

“Only one way to find out.” The Doctor said darkly, and he was back off towards the TARDIS. Before Sherlock could follow, the Doctor turned back, keeping himself between Sherlock and the door.

“You can't come with this time.”

“Why not?” Sherlock demanded furiously, and the Doctor scowled.

“For a genius known for deducting the answers from everyone, you sure do ask a lot of questions.” The Doctor muttered, but before Sherlock could form a retort, the Doctor was explaining. “You can't come because you can't cross your own timeline and I don't have time to fix any paradoxes today, not with Amy-” the Doctor broke off, scowling but they both knew what he'd meant to say; not with her buried alive.

“Fine.” Sherlock agreed, not willing to argue the Doctor on something he knew so little about, turning back to his victim. The Doctor only hesitated a moment before opening the door.

“He said she was buried alive – if you've any idea where he might've done that, it wouldn't be a bad thing to start looking.”

“Yes, thank you Doctor.” came the snide reply, and the Doctor just sighed, stepping into the TARDIS. Sherlock listened as the TARDIS disappeared before crouching in front of the man again. He searched his pockets, finding a phone, a handful of zip ties, and a wallet, the gun he'd been carrying already on a table a few feet away. Sherlock used one of the ties to fasten the man's hands behind his back and then without even a second glance, Sherlock stood, striding towards the exit, his only pause when he pocketed the gun he'd placed on the table earlier. He needed to get to his laptop and track where the phone had been recently. If the man was lucky, it would give him a clue to Amelia's whereabouts. If the man was extremely unlucky, Sherlock would learn nothing of import and be forced to take out his anger on the only outlet he had and the man would be lucky if he survived the night without permanent injuries.

 

Amy didn't know how long it'd been, but she knew it'd been long enough that it was time to stop panicking and think. Though she couldn't help the tears, she moved a bit, trying not to jostle the lid and let in the small bits of dirt, but with only so much space there was only so much she could avoid. She'd remembered the phone and she tried to feel around for it, finally finding it with her socked foot. She realized with no shoes, she'd be awfully cold if she could escape, but there were more important things to worry about, and she began shimmying the phone up the side of the coffin. When her fingers finally brushed it, she let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, pulling it up in front of her face though she couldn't see it in the pitch dark of the coffin. With trembling fingers, she powered it on, relieved when it was nearly full battery. Sherlock must have made sure it was charged and added it last moment and she could only be glad she'd fallen in love with a man who truly seemed to think of everything. Fingers still trembling, she knew she barely had any signal, but she dialled the one number she knew would always answer, tear tracks staining her cheeks, but no more were falling.

The phone only rang twice before there was an answer, and she almost wanted to sob in relief, instead she made her voice as casual as possible.

“Hullo, cheekbones.”

 


	17. Timelines

 The Doctor followed along Moriarty's timeline from the first murder to when he became the number one fan of the world's only consulting detective. He saw him meet Amy for the first time, and even when Moriarty left, the Doctor could only stand and stare at his Amy, working in the sweets shop, wide smile on her face as she called John, arranging to go over later that evening. She looked so happy there, so full of light and life, and he could only smile. She was in her element here, living as a human, crossing wit with the one and only Sherlock Holmes. The care he'd seen in Sherlock's eyes was reflected now in Amy's as she chatted away on the phone. There was a warmth to her, a warmth he hadn't see since she'd first married Rory. He could also see that she was waiting for him. It wasn't hard to see, how her eyes slid over everything in search of the blue box, always unconsciously searching.

“I'm so sorry, Amy.” he said softly, before stepping back into the TARDIS.

He followed Moriarty back through time – and from that caught glimpses of Amy and Sherlock together. He could understand now why Sherlock seemed to despise him so openly, with a part of Amy always staying separate, always searching for him, and once again he felt the guilt at having left her to wait once again.

 

The next time the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS he found himself back at the site of an explosion – the explosion caused by the return of the Master in the basement of an old hospital. He knew his younger self had left, chasing the Master across London, and so walked forward without fear of running into himself. He'd been brought to this point after a jaunt along the whole of Moriarty's timeline and the Doctor couldn't deny that James Moriarty was brilliant, and the opposite of Sherlock much in the same way as the Master was the opposite as him – so opposite in fact, that they were nearly similar. He shook the thought away, not wanting to remember such things, and clambered through the rubble, picking his way into the wreckage. Out came the sonic and he used it to pinpoint the source of the explosion, following that link until he was there, in the mostly collapsed centre of the building, and he ducked behind a crumbling wall just as Moriarty appeared, lifting a book out of the rubble. He didn't have to get any closer to know exactly what the book was, and once again cursed his younger, far more brazen self, for acting so rashly. Of course, he couldn't say he wouldn't do the same if faced with the Master again, but standing here, watching the dangerous book of Saxon being lifted up by the worlds most dangerous human, he wished he'd been far more attentive to little details such as this one. Of course part of him wanted to just rush forward, snatch the book away and drop it into some sun or another, making sure it was well and truly destroyed this time, but he had no way of knowing how that would affect him in the future, so he stopped himself, making his way back to the TARDIS. He had the answer to Moriarty's question, but now he wanted an answer to a question of his own, and there was one place he knew he could always go with his questions. He went to visit River.

 

“Well isn't this a pleasant surprise.” River noted, not looking up from where she lounged on a day bed, book in hand, glass of champagne within reach.

“Shouldn't you be doing digging or something in some field related mission?” he grumbled, and she just laughed, setting the book down and swinging her legs around so that she sat up facing him, taking a sip of champagne as she smiled up at him. “What's troubling you this time?” she asked lightly, though her eyes were sharp on his face, and he sighed, hand running through his hair.

“It's Amy. She's missing you see, and Sherlock's looking for her and doing a fine job I might add, but of course he's facing someone he knows well, even though he's not the same as he was before-” The Doctor broke off at the knowing smile on River's face. “Well go on then, I know you're dying to jump in and correct me.” he grumbled, though this time they could both hear the affection in his voice as he leaned back against the TARDIS, arms crossed. Without preamble, River scribbled something on a piece of paper, folding it before handing it to him.

“Don't open it until you know it's the right time.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“How you always know. It'll be the heat of the moment; you'll have angered and threatened your opponent with your superior knowledge as you always do, frustrated your companion to their wits end, right before you rescue whoever it is you've gotten in trouble this time. Seeing as this time it's my mother, I do hope you act in a timely manner.” The Doctor sighed, knowing he adored this woman who absolutely infuriated him, and as she looked up at him expectantly, he bent down to place a kiss on her lips.

“Will she be alright?” he asked then, looking into River's blue eyes, and she smiled at him.

“Isn't she always?”

He felt a bit of his worry lift from his shoulders and gave her another quick kiss before running back to the TARDIS.

“Doctor,” River called, and he turned back, wary at her tone. “Don't be late.” that was a warning and he hurried off, setting the TARDIS back in motion. He knew where Sherlock would be right now, digging up the empty grave Amy would have occupied only moments before, and took himself there. He was old, and he could be patient, but he was tired of this game. It was time to get Amelia back, and it was time to put an end to this broken Moriarty.


	18. To Travel With The Doctor

 “Hullo cheekbones.” Sherlock could hear the fear in her voice as he pressed the phone to his ear, he could hear the strain as she tried to sound calm, but he didn't comment, deciding for once that keeping such comments to himself was for the best.

“Amelia.”

The relief in his voice had her covering her mouth to hold back her tears, but she managed a smile.

“How's it been, working with the Doctor?” she asked, and Sherlock couldn't help it, he was exhausted, frazzled, and worried sick, and here she was, buried alive god knows where, and trying to cheer him up. He gave a nearly choked laugh.

“Frightful. He really is a mad man with a box.” Sherlock said, and then he was moving. Now that he'd gotten over the shock of having her call, he realized that with the phone on, he should be able to track it, and that the fact she was able to call meant she hadn't been buried very deep. The Doctor still hadn't returned from his mission that was apparently taking him across Sherlock's timeline, but the detective didn't particularly care, not when he had Amelia on the other end of the line with him.

“He is, isn't he? But he tries very hard.”

Sherlock didn't respond, mind spinning as his fingers sprinted across the keys of his laptop.

“I've got to ask you a question, and it's going to be hard, but I need you to think.” he said suddenly, and heard her take a deep, calming breath.

“Ask away.”

“When they buried you, do you remember how long it took?” He heard her let out a shuddering breath, but knew she was thinking.

“The hole was already there, but it didn't feel like I went to far down. And it only took a couple of minutes for the sound to stop.” There was another shuddering breath as her voice hitched and she tried to even it back out. Sherlock winced, but didn't say anything, waiting for both the computer to load and Amelia to finish answering. “Only a few minutes I'd say. And he's got speakers in here. Like he planned it. So he could talk to me. Oh and he's giving me air. Can suck it out in seconds,” she said lightly, which meant she'd experienced it already, and it only made Sherlock's desire to completely ruin his opponent stronger. “But he's feeding air in here because he doesn't want – he seems to want to keep me alive for now.” The laptop dinged and he was on his feet in an instant, already dashing for the door. “But Sherlock?” he felt the pause in his step though he forced himself on.

“Yes?”

“I'd really appreciate it if you found me soon. It's getting a bit hot down here.”

“I'm on my way.” he promised, even as the line began to cut out.

“Sherlock?” she was calling for him, voice still tight with fear, and he shouted her name back, but then the line cut out, her voice cutting off along with the static, only to be replaced by the hated voice of the one person he would no longer hesitate to kill given the chance.

“Clever, very clever of you really, to give her a phone.” Moriarty told him, and he gritted his teeth against his desire to lash out.

“Thank you. Really not that clever though, just common sense. She's always forgetting her own mobile. Interesting that you didn't notice she had one.”

“Do you keep track of all your pets like this?” Moriarty asked, ignoring the jab but prodding as Sherlock jumped into a cab.

“I don't keep pets. It would interfere with my lifestyle.” the response was a bored hum, followed by another prod.

“Has the Doctor figured out my puzzle yet? Or has he left you to figure everything out on your own?”

“That silly bit about the rhythm? Oh he figured that out the moment you mentioned it.” Sherlock lied. “Really quite simple. He's already moved onto the next problem.”

“The next problem?”

“Yes. How to make sure you stay dead this time.”

The laughter in his ear was crazed, but he just ignored it, watching the streets pass by far to slowly for his liking.

“You're lying. He hasn't figured it out.” Moriarty disagreed once his laughter had subsided, and Sherlock just gave a dark chuckle of his own.

“You don't think he's capable enough to do it? He travels all of time and space, defeating species far more intelligent than you could ever hope to be, and you think a silly little rhythm from his past will slow him down? How very boring.” he could feel the rage radiating on the other end of the phone, but was not gratified with an angry response, only a cool one.

“Very bold words coming from the losing team. Give my best to the Doctor next time he pops in.” The dial tone began in his ear once Moriarty had hung up, and all Sherlock could wonder was the point behind all of this. It had been so much more difficult to defeat him in the past, but this, this seemed too easy – the breadcrumbs left out in plain view for him to follow. He ignored the itch telling him to look deeper, search harder for the answers, but he couldn't – he was too worried about Amelia. He began to wonder if that was the point, but then he was pulling to a stop, arriving at the address the computer had listed and he leapt out of the cab. She had to be here. She just had to be.

 

The phone cut out and the last thing Amy heard was Sherlock calling her name, but before she could dial back, she heard the sound of somebody digging.

“Sherlock?” she shouted, wondering if against all odds he'd made it to her so quickly, but when the shovel hit the lid and the sound of the chains being pulled away met her ears, she doubted it. Then the lid was pulled back, the sunlight blinding her, and she was yanked out painfully by her arm. The phone was pulled from her hands right before they were tied together, and a gag was pulled over her mouth. Then she was shoved into the back of the car and her eyes finally focused on Moriarty sitting across from her in the back of what she now knew to be a town car.

“Sherlock figured it out quicker than I expected thanks to that phone of yours. Really not surprising though, all things considered. It's far to much fun having him chase you around though to let him find you just yet. Where to hide you next, in the middle of the ocean? Put you on a plane to America?”

Amy just glared since she was unable to talk, wondering just what the point of all this was. This only seemed to be a fraction of the Moriarty she'd heard about, and even then, there were things missing. Was this really who everyone thought it was, or was there more going on than any of them could see? Before she could think to ask, the car had stopped, but they didn't get out. Instead, Moriarty pulled out a phone, staring at it expectantly right after flipping on a television screen. It showed a garden, the garden Amelia knew she'd been buried in, she could see the fresh dirt from where she'd been. What struck her as odd though, was that the hole was filled again. She understood immediately when Sherlock appeared on the screen, and a new hatred filled her for the man across from her. She didn't care so much that she'd been kidnapped, she always managed to get home in the end, but how he was hurting Sherlock was unacceptable and she hoped she'd get a chance to pay him back for it.

 

When Sherlock arrived at the address the computer had listed, he leapt out of the cab, running around to the back and climbing over the fence. The coffin sized space of freshly turned soil was easy to spot and he was upon it in seconds, hands raking at the dirt in a near frenzy. He reached the coffin after only pushing aside a few inches, and felt his heart beating in his throat as he reached for the top half of the lid, pulling it back and letting the dirt shower onto the ground as he yanked it open. The coffin was empty save for a few strands of Amelia's orange hair, and the phone he'd left in her pocket. It was on, a call in progress, and he lifted it to his ear.

“Amelia?”

“I can't help but be surprised by how much you're doing for this girl. Nearly killing a man, digging up a grave with your bare hands when a shovel was only feet away.” Sherlock looked up and caught sight of the shovel, but ignored it.

“Stop this. Give her back. This game is pointless.”

“I disagree. I've never seen you run around in quite such a frenzy. Not since, well not since you thought I was going to kill your dear John. Even then though, even then it wasn't like _this._ I wonder, Sherlock, do you love this girl? This ordinary girl?”

“If she's so ordinary, there's no reason for you to keep her.”

“On the contrary.” Moriarty looked across the car to where Amelia sat, dirt smudged across her cheeks, hands bound, mouth gagged, and still managing to glare daggers in his direction. “I want the answer to my puzzle.” Moriarty stated, causing Amy to frown. Puzzle? What puzzle? “Well?” Moriarty asked in an almost bored voice after a large pause, but there was a need in his eyes, a craving for the answer. Prepared to spit out another lie to distract the man on the other end from doing further harm, Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but even as he did so, the whirring of the TARDIS began to fill the air.

“I'll let you ask him yourself.” Sherlock said easily, standing to saunter over as the TARDIS materialized in front of him, the Doctor appearing in the doorway. Sherlock handed him the phone, and without needing an explanation, the Doctor took it, fierce gleam to his dark eyes. He'd learned something important it seemed, though it was clear he wouldn't take the time to share that information. So as he began to speak, Sherlock went back to examine the coffin.

“'Allo, Jim. Been awhile, hasn't it? Well only minutes for you, but days for me. I just met a younger version of you – well sort of met. Watched really. You see I have the answer. I know why you're walking around as if you somehow managed to escape death on that rooftop. I thought maybe the Master had met you and given you some regeneration energy, but it's far simpler than that, and you're far less important. You found the book – the book of Saxon. I thought it had been destroyed in the explosion so never bothered looking for it, but you found it, and you used what you found in there. The problem with that being the formula was meant to bring back a Time Lord, and a specific Time Lord at that, not a regular human. So when you planned for the eventuality of your death, you planned on using the book to bring yourself back, what you didn't plan on was it going wrong. Not in the same sense as it did with the Master himself, since his wife really was much brighter than anyone gave her credit for, but because it brought you back _wrong._ You're not as smart as you used to be, and that bothers you, doesn't it? It bothers you that you can't come up with the same elaborate schemes and create the same amount of chaos and panic. You've been quick, I'll give you that, and fairly clever, but times run out, because you're not as clever as you once were and I know how to end you.” he hung up and pulled Sherlock into the TARDIS, already running back to the console.

“Book of Saxon?” Sherlock managed to ask, and the Doctor waved a hand as if to say it was unimportant.

“When the Master was here the first time he wrote down a way to be brought back even if he died. But of course in the same book was how to reverse that – that reincarnation of sorts.”

“But how did Moriarty find the book in the first place, and what do you mean it brought him back wrong?”

“Well clearly the explosion wasn't hot enough to burn the pages and it just lay hidden amongst the rubble, but what I mean is, that we're different species.” he jumped around and brought down a screen, typing in a few things and then waving Sherlock over. “See this is human biology, this is Time Lord. Our genetic codes are fundamentally different. The formula needed to bring us back would cause permanent brain damage in a human.” he moved back to run around the console again, clearly in a hurry.

“I understand that, what I don't understand is his fixture on Amelia.”

“Well that's really about you. And me. You see because it was meant for the Master, to bring back his memory and self, Moriarty's sort of grew an interest in me, gained minimal knowledge from it, sort of spliced information into his head, and Amelia is the now. She's your now as much as she's mine. With Moriarty's fascination with defeating you, and the Master's need to defeat me, she was pulled into his sights as a weakness we shared.”

“How would he know she's important to you though?”

“Because I think he was the one who pulled her out of the TARDIS.”

Sherlock could only stare, mind scrambling to catch up with the sudden change of events. Sherlock had been trying to figure out his next step and then the Doctor showed up, all the answers ready and waiting. He could see why it would be intoxicating to the others the Doctor brought along as companions. Could see the draw of travelling time and saving worlds with the Doctor. You never had to worry about the steps in between – the waiting, the worrying. You cut straight to the chase, all information available at some point in time, and the Doctor was able to find it and pluck it out of the universe at will. It was humbling, and humiliating for the detective, to be shown how small he was in the grand scheme of things when he'd always found himself to be so much more important. He wondered how he could ever expect Amelia to give such a thing up, as travelling with the Doctor. Then he realized how frantic the Doctor was as he rushed around the console.

“In a rush, Doctor?” he asked, and the Doctor just nodded, huffing out a breath as he finally hit the lever for the TARDIS to begin moving.

“Well, as you and your arch nemesis clearly pointed out, he doesn't like to be humiliated, proved the lesser in intelligence, and well I didn't just hop into the past. I hopped a bit into the future.” he looked almost embarrassed. “Well, I visited River. She wouldn't give a proper answer of course, but she gave me coordinates, and she said if I wasn't on time -” The Doctor swallowed before giving a grin. “Hold down that lever will you?” The Doctor asked, pointing, and Sherlock did as he was asked. So River had given the Doctor a warning? Were they about to save Amelia? Or was there another step in this whole confusing mess that Sherlock was missing? He scowled, still holding down the lever. River was right. He hated the Doctor. Nothing about him made any sense, he took all sense and reason and tossed it out the window. He'd be glad for the day when the Doctor disappeared again, but he feared that day as well, because he feared Amelia would disappear back into the impossible world with the impossible Doctor.

 


	19. Saving Amy

She could see the TARDIS materializing, but it was too late, she was over-balanced, and she could already feel herself, body sluggish from whatever Moriarty had ordered injected into her system, starting to fall. Even as she fell completely back, bright hair blowing wildly around her face, she saw the TARDIS doors open, and felt the smile spread across her face. Cheekbones and chin boy, working together to save her. Then she was free falling over the edge of the cliff, waves crashing below her, and she closed her eyes. She didn't want to see their horror in her last moments, she wanted to remember their smiles.

 

_Twenty Minutes Earlier_

 

“What were the coordinates River gave you?” Sherlock demanded, still holding down the lever, and the Doctor thrust a piece of paper at him. The words and numbers were pulled from the paper and into his mind, and within seconds he knew exactly where they were going.

“This is the top of a cliff, above a bay in Norway.”

The Doctor froze, turning to Sherlock slowly.

“What did you just say?”

“Dårlig Ulv Stranden, is the name of the bay, if I recall correctly, and I usually do, roughly translates to Bad Wolf Bay, does it not?” pleased that he'd known something the Doctor hadn't, he looked up, only to see the Doctor standing mere inches away, paler than he'd ever seen him.

“You're sure?” The Doctor asked, becoming colder, and Sherlock just nodded, wary of this new side to the Doctor. The easy switch from happy to angry unnerved him, and he never knew just how to react.

“Of course I'm sure.” Sherlock snapped, though he held back as much as he could, it didn't take a genius to see this alien was dangerous, and he didn't want to be caught in that burning anger should the Doctor decide to turn his gaze in his direction.

“He couldn't possibly know it was important – could he?” The Doctor muttered to himself, ignoring Sherlock now as he went around the console. “To lose two companion's in one place. He's trying to to hurt me. But how could he know? How? And how could he have known where to find that book?” Now the Doctor did look at Sherlock.

“What do you know about that place?” he asked, and Sherlock shrugged.

“There's nothing particularly special about it. There were rumours a few years ago that it was haunted by a wailing woman, but those rumours have died down since.”

“A wailing woman.” The Doctor repeated, wincing at the words, but then he was shaking his head. “But it still doesn't make sense. Why _there_? How does he _know_?” The Doctor was moving around quickly again, moving to the screen and pushing Sherlock away from the lever he'd still been holding. “This doesn't make any sense.” The Doctor complained, looking at the screen that had stats about the bay Sherlock had named flashing over the screen.

“I know it pains you to have to explain yourself Doctor,” Sherlock noted, voice dripping with sarcasm, “But if you would take the moment.” The Doctor looked up, once more looking embarrassed.

“Right, yes, of course. Bad Wolf Bay. Well, Rose created it. In a sense. When I first met her I was in my ninth regeneration, and I was angry, battle worn. She was bright and full of life. Rose Tyler.” he smiled at that, and her image appeared on the screen, claiming she no longer existed, and that wiped the smile from his face. “I sent her home in the TARDIS because I was going to die and it was the only way to save her and the TARDIS from being destroyed by the Daleks. And Rose, beautiful Rose, she merged with the heart of the TARDIS, she became the Bad Wolf and sent messages to herself throughout time and space to get back to me, to save me. Rose Tyler, defender of the universe.” Once more he smiled. “But she changed things, in time and space, and created this bay. In this world and in the parallel one. That's the bay I left her on the first time, in the parallel world. Her and the other me the second time. He'd just committed genocide so it was safer for him there anyways, regardless of the happiness it brought her.”

“You think Moriarty chose this place because you've already lost a companion here, you're first companion after the time war, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yes, exactly, yes.”

“Did the Master know about this place?”

“It's possible I suppose, but he would have had no way to see its relevance. Rose was gone long before the Master arrived the first time. And the second time – well it was after she'd left the second time as well.”

“And you're sure the only information Moriarty has about you would have come from the Master?” it sat oddly on his tongue, calling someone something so domineering, but he continued to use the title for lack of anything else.

“Yes, well I think so. I suppose if he had access to Torchwood, but Jack wouldn't allow that. And the government – well what little they know -” he broke off, turning to squint at Sherlock. “Your brother is Mycroft.” he said suddenly, and Sherlock made a face.

“I fail to see how that's relevant, Doctor.”

“Well he does control the government, does he not?” the Doctor stated, and Sherlock smirked. He'd been saying the same thing for years.

“I suppose.”

“Could he have told Moriarty anything?”

“Are you meaning to say Mycroft has had knowledge on you and your companion's all these years?” he asked, anger beginning to rear its head. The Doctor gave a sheepish grin.

“Well, it used to be that my name would set off alarms in all corners of the government, mind you I sort of deleted myself from history so to speak, but yes, he's known of me.” Then the Doctor gave a cheeky grin. “You should've invited him round for tea.” Before Sherlock had a chance to demand answers from the Doctor, the TARDIS was landing, and he was running towards the door. “Come on Sherlock, no better way to find answers than to ask the man himself. I'll ask questions and you do what you do best – deduce the answers from him. No time for lies and half truths.” Sherlock went stock still for the briefest of moments before he was dashing after the Doctor. They were finally there, he was finally going to save Amelia. The door to the TARDIS opened and he stepped out, in time to meet her eyes the moment before they closed. He heard himself shout her name, heard the Doctor do the same thing, but then she was falling, falling out of sight. Sherlock stood frozen, unable to think, his thoughts turning to sludge. They were supposed to be saving Amy, was all he could think. He closed his eyes. Amelia.

 


	20. Trust

 “Sherlock! And the Doctor.” Came Moriarty's cheerful voice, though he sneered the second name. “Right on time. Funny isn't it? How time seems to slow when you watch someone you care for slowly take the plunge. You have to wonder, Sherlock, if that's how John felt, don't you think? Did he feel as helpless? As weak? As useless as the two of you standing here now? Poor, poor Amy. Waiting on the Doctor all this time, such a let down; to be left for such long periods of time, and then to have you act as if it was nothing at all. And then there's you, Sherlock, the one she fell in love with, the one she expected to save her. Made a mess of that one, didn't you?” Moriarty spat out the word love as if it were poisonous.

He'd kept the gun in his pocket up until that point, and now he brandished it, aiming it at Moriarty.

“Really, Sherlock, a gun couldn't kill me the first time, what makes you think it could do the job properly the second time around?”

“Because I will pull the trigger until I am absolutely sure you will never move again.” Moriarty laughed, but the Doctor reached out, putting a hand on Sherlock's arm. Then he touched his ear, and Sherlock could only blink. Was he telling him to listen? But to what? Then he realized it, he'd never heard the sound of impact.

“What I'd like to know, Jim, is how you found the book in the first place. The few people who'd known of its existence died in the explosion, so how did you learn of it?” The Doctor asked, hand dropping something into Sherlock's pocket before wandering forward in what almost appeared to be a careless manner, but there was something decisive about his steps, and so Sherlock waited.

“You knew about the book, Doctor.”

“Yeah, but you couldn't have found out from me. So how did you know?”

“A little bird told me.”

The Doctor just scoffed and Sherlock found his eyes drawn back to Moriarty. He'd been told to watch, and so he'd watch. What was he watching for? He wondered, and then he saw it, the flicker.

“Little bird, that would make sense if you, like me, could actually speak to birds, but seeing as you can't, who could've possibly told you about the book?”

“Does it bother you, Doctor? That I've defeated you using this book, his book?”

“Not particularly. I mean, you'd actually have to have won to defeat me.” He pulled out the sonic even as he scooped a rock off the ground, tossing it in his hand before aiming the sonic at it. “Odd place to meet, don't you think? In Norway. How'd you get here so quickly? Doubt you couldn't driven in that short time.”

“Short time? Oh Doctor, don't tell me you've done it again. It's been over a day since you made your phone call.”

The Doctor glanced back at Sherlock who shook his head. It was a lie, and the Doctor turned back with a dark smile.

“Interesting, that you think you can lie to both me and the Doctor. Clearly your ability to lie faded along with the better part of your intelligence.” Sherlock said, watching the flicker of anger contort Moriarty's features.

“If I'm not lying, please. Inform me how we could be here so quickly.”

“Well, if my calculations are correct, we were a couple of hours, so then I'd say you took a plane. How do you get a girl on a plane who clearly doesn't want to be there? Well of course I'd assume you had your own plane considering how lucrative your business is. But that still doesn't answer the question. Why here?”

“Because it's important to you, Doctor.”

Sherlock glanced at the Doctor but was amazed when the Doctor's expression didn't change in the slightest to reveal the truth behind that statement. Instead he looked surprised. He'd never witnessed anyone lie so expertly.

“Is it? I can't seem to remember being here before.”

“Let me remind you then.”

Suddenly a voice that was his but not could be heard.

“Im burning up a sun just to say goodbye... Rose Tyler, I-... Does it need saying?...”

“Stop it.” The Doctor ordered, and Moriarty laughed.

“You can't fool me, Doctor. I know everything about you.”

“Everything?” There was that hint of superiority again. “Well then, if you know everything, please, tell me, what am I going to do next?”

“Continue to complacently ask questions.” It was clearly an insult and Sherlock just watched the Doctor storm over, all but looming over Moriarty.

“If you know everything, then you'd know I've destroyed whole planets, whole species, to save those I care about. I've blown up battalions of soldiers to save Amy, so what do you think is stopping me from stepping back and allowing Sherlock to pull that trigger? Because we both know you won't come back to life this time, I wouldn't allow it.”

“Let him shoot me if you'd like, Doctor, but we all know that would just make this all so _boring_.” He paused, empty eyes locking on the Doctors. “And you hate killing, the idea of staining you hands with more blood. That's why you hate guns.” Then he leaned closer, causing the Doctor to lean back. “But if you're so sure your dear Amelia is still alive, why are you bothering with me? I think you should take a peak over the cliff. Your Amelia is dead. Nothing could save her from a fall like that.” His cold eyes swept past the Doctor to land on Sherlock, lips twitching into a chilling smile. “What do you think, Sherlock? Could she have survived the fall?”

Sherlock shook his head, but lowered the gun.

“Nobody could. Which makes it a good thing that she didn't actually fall.”

Moriarty blinked but that was all Sherlock needed as confirmation. He'd been listening like the Doctor had told him to and hadn't heard an impact. So now he did step over to the edge, looking down.

“Nothing there, as I suspected. If you were hoping to discourage us by making us think her dead, you would've been better off picking somewhere too high to hear the impact.”

Moriarty just gave a lazy smile.

“But you don't know the best part. _You_ might know she didn't actually fall, but she doesn't.”

It was then that the Doctor turned back, lips parted as if he wanted to speak words of disbelief, looking up from under his frown.

“Explain.” the one word was said harshly, with no room for games or riddles, and Moriarty looked taken aback for the briefest of moments before he managed to school his expression to a blank one.

“Well, since it was getting a bit irritating having her shout and trying to escape all the time, we gave her a mild anesthetic, but with the amount of running she does to try and escape, and I really must applaud her on that, it hit her system faster than it could have, and well, she was running, and she came to an edge, and she fell.”

“That doesn't explain how we saw her.” The Doctor said in that soft voice that spoke of anger, and Sherlock shrugged.

“I don't know about that Doctor, I think it's fairly obvious. Projection, is it not? Two ways I'd assume, since our gazes were able to meet.” he stepped towards the edge of the cliff, stopping and bending down to lift a device from the ground.

“Here we are, Doctor.” he turned to hand it to the Doctor, but the other man was still glaring at Moriarty.

“How did you find the book?” he was asking again, and Sherlock frowned, did it matter how he'd found the book? Wasn't it more important that he _had_ found it and used it? But he didn't interrupt, instead turning the small device over in his hands. It opened to show him a screen behind the camera, and he was examining it even as he listened to the Doctor's conversation.

“How does anyone find anything, Doctor? They look for it.”

The Doctor just gave a look of exaggerated exasperation.

“If I believed you were smart enough to have considered such a possibility as his return I wouldn't even be bothering to ask. Don't play games with me, Moriarty. You aren't clever enough. So the answer must be simple. You couldn't have met the Master because there was no chance for your paths to cross. Not the first time when it was all erased, or the second time when he came back. There wasn't a chance so -”

“You don't think Saxon didn't think to give the book to somebody the first time around? Clearly it had to be on that ship in order not to be forgotten, but did you ever consider that perhaps he gathered minds that had similar interests to his?”

The Doctor scoffed.

“His interests were simple; destroy or control the human race, and in the end it was only to destroy. They were not good enough to live in the same world as him. You would not have been good enough.”

Moriarty's look of rage told Sherlock that the Doctor was managing to push him back to that need to show off, to reveal his plan, and though he knew the old Moriarty would never reveal anything so easily, he could see bits of the Master, as the Doctor had said, in this new version.

“He gave it to me. The book. In order to keep it safe from _you._ He knew if you heard of it you'd find it and take it back, and so he had me hide it, for a price of course.”

“That you could use it if you needed to be brought back. Of course. How simple. And of course the Master knew that if you, a simple human, were to use it, it would change you, bring bits of him back. I wonder, don't you? If that was his plan all along? Do you feel yourself still changing? Do you think perhaps he gave it to you in hopes you would be stupid enough to use it, and bring him back as well? I wonder, if the differences we see in you aren't because Moriarty is changing, but because the Master is taking over.”

Sherlock had never seen Moriarty appear so outwardly angry for such an extended period, but the anger appeared wrong, he could see that now, it was no longer an expression he was used to seeing, it was turning into a mad grin, a mad grin the Doctor had shown him.

“Do you hear the drums?” Sherlock inquired, and Moriarty's gaze snapped to him and then down to his hand that was tapping the beat on his thigh. “Do you hear the never ending beat?”

“Stop that.” Moriarty ordered, but Sherlock didn't, and the Doctor just looked between them.

“How does it feel to be split between two people, to know someone else is fighting to take over? Does it make you angry? Or does it make you realize how stupid you were to trust a mad alien?” Sherlock inquired, and was gratified with Moriarty's growing anger, though he didn't move.

“Where's Amy?” The Doctor finally asked, and Moriarty's gaze snapped back to him, madness swirling behind hollow eyes.

“Wouldn't you like to know? If you're so clever, Doctor, figure it out. But I would hurry. It's awful cold to be out in the weather unconscious. She can't keep herself warm. My men also know exactly where she is. In fact, they may even have orders to kill her when she comes to, or was it to bury her again? I can never remember, not with that incessant beat in my head.”

He was playing them now, using their questions and accusations as fodder for his game. Sherlock chose, in that moment, to do as River said, and trust the Doctor completely.

“Doctor.” he tossed the small machine at the other man who caught it easily, scanning it over with the sonic. “Bring back the projection. It may not have just shown her, but something of the background.” The Doctor nodded but then met Sherlock's gaze, nodding almost imperceptibly towards Moriarty. Sherlock nodded, his own gaze demanding trust in return for the trust he was giving, and the Doctor nodded. Once again, Sherlock lifted the gun.


	21. Reunion

Amy was freezing. She was also surprised. She wasn't dead, and part of her had expected to be. Her body still felt sluggish so she didn't try to move, instead she listened. She wasn't alone, she realized, she was being guarded, but where? She was so cold and she could feel the wind on her face, blowing her hair around, she could also still hear the waves, smell the water. Opening her eyes in slits she could see the cliff rising up above her and wondered briefly if she'd actually fallen and managed to survive, but she knew immediately that wasn't the case. Though she could remember looking around and thinking she was on the cliff, she remembered having started on this very beach, and in her hazed mind, the view had changed so suddenly she hadn't even had time to realize what had happened before she was falling, succumbing to the anesthetic they'd drugged her with mid-motion. She felt numb, her fingers so cold she was surprised they were still attached, but she ignored that feeling, instead looking around at her guards. There were a handful of them, though none were paying her any particular attention. Only a few feet in the other direction was a cave, and she knew if she could just get there, that she'd be able to defend herself. Keep them all away for a time. She tried to move and her body resisted, but she gritted her teeth. She was Amelia Pond, she could do anything, she was well worth two men, and nothing would make her give up.

That was when the two shots rang out. She felt the wave of fear – could it have been Sherlock or the Doctor who'd been shot? She knew the Doctor could regenerate as long as he wasn't shot again while he was regenerating, but Sherlock wouldn't be so lucky. Her guards however, were rushing away from her to look up at the cliff.

“Did he have a gun?”

“Don't think so, but you never know with him. And with that book, well, does it matter?”

“I think its strange. A book that can bring something back to life. I think he's crazier than he used to be.”

“Shut your mouth. If he were to hear you'd said that, you'd be dead before sun down.”

Even as the guards argued over who might have shot who, and the outcomes of each possibility, Amy began inching her way towards cave. When she'd actually managed to get a good distance between herself and the guards, she leapt to her feet, unsteady but unwilling to give in, and raced towards the opening in the cliff.

“Oi! Watch it! There she goes! Catch her! Bring her back!” They were shouting at her and each other, but she kept running, feeling the rush of adrenaline as the first shot came and missed her, pushing the last of whatever had put her under out of her system. Even as they shouted, she couldn't help herself, this was the chance she'd been looking for; she laughed. Head pounding but clear, she ducked into the cave and grabbed the biggest rock she could lift, hiding just inside the cave. When the first man entered she knocked him over the head then dove for the gun he dropped as it skittered across the ground. She scooped it up and aimed it at the next man who came through the entrance.

“I wouldn't, if I were you.” Amy said easily, scottish accent thick with the threat, and the man just sneered.

“You wouldn't shoot. You're a companion of the Doctor, and Moriarty said he couldn't properly hurt anyone. And he hates guns.”

“Do I look like the Doctor do you?” Amy asked in both amusement and disbelief, and the man seemed to hesitate. “Your boss should do his research. I'm River Song's mum. We don't have as many rules as the Doctor.”

“He wouldn't approve of you shooting people.”

Amy just made a sound of disbelief and pulled the trigger, superior smile showing as the needle stuck out of the man's arm.

“You think that after travelling through time and space with the Doctor I don't know the difference between a real gun and a fake one?” she demanded, obviously outraged, but as he slumped she dashed forward to collect his weapon as well, yanking the extra tranquilizers off his belt. Then she hurried deeper into the cave, waiting for the rest to come after her. There were only four left, and she had no doubt that she could outsmart them in the time it would take for Sherlock and the Doctor to find her, because she refused to believe it was either of them that had been shot.

 

“Will he stay dead?” Sherlock asked, weapon now back in his pocket, and the Doctor shook his head, face holding it's frown though he didn't look at the body, instead bringing back the projection of Amy falling for the second time, but it gave them no extra details.

“No, though I'm not actually sure how this works. I don't know if he'll regenerate or just turn into a signal to pull the Master out of the Time Lock, or what if any of the many possibilities will come true, but I do know we can't leave him here.”

“What do you suggest then, Doctor?”

It was then that they heard the shouts, followed by the bright peel of laughter and both men shared a look.

“Amelia.”

“Amy.”

They said it at the same time, and then they were both running, running towards the TARDIS without even a thought.

Amy heard the whir of the TARDIS and looked up, triumphant grin on her face as she sat victorious on a rock at the mouth of the cave entrance. She was freezing but she wouldn't show it, waiting instead until the TARDIS was fully materialized. Then she watched the door open, the Doctor appearing first, followed by Sherlock.

“Amy!” The Doctor exclaimed, rushing forward even as Amy slid off the rock, knowing grin plastered on her face, but even as she let the Doctor wrap her up in a hug, her arms around him as well, her eyes were locked with Sherlocks.

“I'm alright.” he saw her say, though he had no idea which of them she was comforting. Then the Doctor was letting her go, watching as she approached Sherlock. Sherlock couldn't look anywhere but at her, though he itched to do so. She was here in front of him, after all this running around, and he didn't quite know how to act. He was so _relieved_ she was safe, to the point where it was as if he couldn't properly breathe until he could touch her, but he couldn't quite reach out to where she stood before him, in all her grinning glory, looking once more as if she was waiting.

“Are you going to kiss me or just keep staring at me?” she asked, repeating words that felt like they were from so very long ago, and he closed the distance, pulling her against him, arms banding around her and holding her so tightly it was as if he wanted to crush them together so they were only one person. Her fingers dived into his dark curls and the Doctor could only stand and stare. Even with Rory he hadn't seen this sort of passion – this sort of desperation after not having seen each other. He didn't interrupt like he would've done in the past, instead he just walked around them, disappearing into the TARDIS.

When the two finally broke apart they didn't separate, hugging each other close.

“I'm glad you're alright.” she told him, and he pulled back to look at her incredulously. She'd been kidnapped, buried alive, and made to feel as if she was falling to her death, and it was still him she was worried about.

“Why wouldn't I be alright?”

She just smiled at him. “I heard the gunshots, drew the attention away from me enough so I could run. I was worried you might've been shot.” Carefully Sherlock pulled the gun out of his pocket and her eyes widened in surprise.

“I suppose you don't approve of killing either?” he asked, but she just rolled her eyes.

“I'll tell you about Madame Kovarian one day, then you'll know how I feel about killing.”

“Whose Madame Kovarian?”

“She's the one who abducted Amy and later River. What did happen to her?” The Doctor asked, head popping out of the TARDIS, and Amy shared a look with the Doctor that had him looking away, a look that was almost regret in his eyes.

“What happened to Moriarty?” she asked suddenly, and now it was the turn of the two men to share a look. Then the Doctor was grabbing Amy's hand, who in turn linked her fingers with Sherlock's.

“Come on!”

 

Once on the TARDIS, Amy ran off, and Sherlock could only stare as she disappeared into one of the many corridors without the slightest discomfort.

“Where's she going?”

“Her room, if I had to guess. Knowing Amy she probably wants a hot shower and a change of clothes. Probably a pair of shoes since she's been almost barefoot this whole time.” Sherlock just stared at the doorway that led from the console room.

“How big is your TARDIS exactly?” The TARDIS seemed to answer him with noise from the all around him, and after the noise quieted, the Doctor answered.

“She's Infinite.”

Sherlock looked over to see the Doctor with a genuine smile on his face as he touched the centre of the console, not a smile to prove his cunning, not one of embarrassment, or threat, but a genuine, happy smile. Catching his stare, the Doctor's expression didn't change, he just continued to smile. “She's alive, my TARDIS, I met her once, in the body of a human.”

“Called you her thief.” Amy said, reappearing dressed in one of her many mini skirts, a sweater, knee high boots and her blue coat, face scrubbed clean but hair pinned up. She hadn't taken the time to shower, she was as anxious to get to Moriarty as they were. Then she looked over to share a grin with Sherlock. “And he called her Sexy.” she said with a wink, causing the Doctor to blush. Sherlock found that interesting, but didn't comment, just reached out, without even thinking as Amy approached to stand beside him, fingers brushing against hers, and she linked their fingers together. The TARDIS landed again and Amy was first to the door this time, turning back with that flirtatious smile just as her hands landed on the door.

“Coming boys?”

The Doctor grinned and Sherlock couldn't help his smirk. He was glad she was alright, though he wasn't sure how he felt about how well she took it all, weren't people usually in shock? He shook the thought off, following the others out. At first glance, Moriarty was nowhere in sight, but Amy wasn't to be fooled and she marched towards the edge, kicking away the projector and revealing Moriarty who'd been hiding behind the projection, clearly still healing from the gunshots.

“You don't look so good.” Amy noted, though Sherlock could hear the anger that burned in her voice.

“Got your boys again then have you?” Moriarty laughed, expression twitching into one that was his but not his.

“Got my boys, got my ride. And what've you got?” she asked, eyebrows lifting with the question, but there was something sharp in her words.

“All three of you in one place.”

“Could've had that anyways.” The Doctor nodded from Amy's right, and Moriarty glanced at him as he approached.

“True, but not exactly how I wanted. I've got the girl who waited, the consulting detective, and the Doctor all in one place, all right under my thumb. Something to be said for that.”

“You're hardly in a position of power.” Sherlock said, tone bored, but once again Moriarty laughed.

“No? Let me ask my next question then. What are you going to do with me now? The bullets didn't kill me-”

“Yet. You'll die on your own anyways and every time you 'die' it brings you closer to that end. You aren't immortal.” The Doctor said, and once again Moriarty laughed.

“No, but you won't kill me, and Sherlock will be to busy with the lovely Amy to kill me over, and over again until I finally die.”

“Oi! I don't think I like what you're implying!” Amy snapped, accent becoming harsher in her anger. She reached for Sherlock's pocket where she knew the gun was, but he stayed her hand.

“Amelia.”

She met his gaze, only to find him guiding her eyes towards the Doctor. When she looked over he had that smile on his face, the scary smile that said he had a plan and the one it was for wouldn't like it.

“Maybe you'll travel with me in the TARDIS. Maybe you'll manage to get yourself killed, maybe you'll just stay locked up, maybe your whole system will revolt to being human and we'll have another master on our hands. In any case, you'll be out of the way.”

Though the reply was quick, Moriarty looked distinctly uncomfortable to Sherlock's probing gaze.

“Aren't you afraid I'll hurt your precious ship?” Moriarty threatened, and the Doctor laughed, though it was a dark, threatening laugh.

“I dare you to try.”

Moriarty seemed to recoil at that and Amy gave a sigh.

“This is boring. He's not really very threatening when he doesn't hold any weight, is he?” Amy complained, but that only seemed to rile Moriarty further.

“I still have the book.”

The Doctor smirked at that and tossed Sherlock a look.

“Do you? I thought Sherlock had it.”

Sherlock reached into his pocket, pulling out a the small square the Doctor had placed there earlier.

“You see I followed you through your whole timeline up until basically this point, do you really think I would never have thought to take the book back before it could be misused further?” Moriarty opened his mouth to speak but again the Doctor gave one of his frightening grins. “And don't worry about the computer copies. They're gone as well.” the grin widened as he approached Moriarty. “So, just what should we do with you?”

 


	22. All's Well That Ends Well

Amy was sitting on the couch at 221B Baker street with a pout, arms crossed in front of her chest. Sitting across from her was John, but he didn't try to speak, recognizing that if he spoke he may very well have Amelia's temper aimed at him. When the sound of the TARDIS could be heard out on the street, Amy didn't move, instead her scowl darkened, and John stood, clearing his throat.

“Well, I'll just be upstairs. Ahem. Shout if you need anything.” Amy nodded but didn't respond with words, turning to glare instead at the door. She was furious with the two men she knew would be appearing any moment, and was deciding just how to deal with that anger.

They'd captured Moriarty on the edge of the cliff, but when they'd all merrily gone back aboard the TARDIS, Amy found herself suddenly being shoved out into the living room of 221B, where papers were now scattered everywhere around the room from the TARDIS' appearance. They'd then left without her to do as they saw fit with the criminal mastermind on their own, and it made her furious. Her eyes narrowed at the sound of the front door opening. She had had just as much right to be apart of whatever happened to Moriarty as the other two, more so than the Doctor, she thought, since she was the one who'd been kidnapped. Yet for some reason she'd ended up left out of the end of the adventure, and she wasn't willing to forgive them at all. The door to the apartment opened and Sherlock appeared first, unravelling his scarf, eyes careful not to meet Amelia's as he hung his scarf and coat on a hook. Following close behind him was the Doctor, who only had to glance briefly in her direction before he too avoided her gaze. She stood, fuming, and both men fidgeted on the spot, neither brave enough to face her head on.

“So, what've you got to say for yourselves?” she demanded, and one after the other they lifted their gazes.

“If you expect an apology-” Sherlock began, but a sharp look from Amy cut him off.

“You think all I expect is an apology? What did you two think you were doing? Dropping me off here like lost luggage. I had just as much right to-”

“Really, Amy. It has nothing to do with right, we just thought it was safer since you were the one he chose to threaten.”

“Oh so now not only am I not capable of protecting myself, but you two both find yourselves incapable of helping keep me safe when we're all standing within inches of each other? Interesting, that. Since you both try so hard to be heroes.”

“I'm not a hero, Amy.” The Doctor said darkly, as if they'd had this conversation before, and Amy shrugged as if she could care less.

“You're right, you're not. So why did you have to go and try to act like one? I should've been there too, _because_ I'm the one he threatened. It was only fair that I be there till the end.”

“Is that what you wanted? To see it through, no matter the end result?” Sherlock enquired, and she turned her sharp green eyes on him.

“It is.”

“Even if we were to tell you we sent him to his death?”

“Is that what you did?” she asked, not bothered in the slightest though Sherlock thought she ought to have been, and the Doctor shook his head though he ran nervous fingers through his hair.

“Not exactly.”

Amy just glared between the two of them. Complaining would get her nowhere, and clearly neither of them were all that fazed by her anger which only upset her more. Without another word, she turned on her heels and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The Doctor and Sherlock exchanged looks, and it was the Doctor who retreated first.

“You should probably go, I've got to, you know,” he motioned back towards the outside and his TARDIS and with a heavy sigh Sherlock nodded. He didn't really want to fight with Amy so soon after they'd gotten her back, but it looked like their decision to exclude her had angered her enough to cause one anyways. Giving only a quick glance at the Doctor's retreating back, he headed towards his bedroom, opening the door to find Amy standing by the window, back to him, arms crossed in front of her again. There were many words he could give her, meaningless words that would sound like reasonable explanations, and yet he couldn't bring himself to utter them. He knew they would be useless against her because she never seemed to listen to those superficial explanations, she always seemed to see right through them and in turn right through him. So instead of that, instead of using words as his sword and shield, he did something she would've done, something she would understand. He walked right up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, lips pressing against her temple. She didn't pull away, instead leaned into him, albeit grudgingly.

“What did you decide to do with him?”

“The Doctor said he knew of a prison. A prison for people who had broken the rules of some shadow proclamation. We handed him over to them.” Surprised, Amy turned around to look at him.

“You just handed him over?”

Sherlock shrugged. “The Doctor thought it was best, and since he knew more about the defect in Moriarty's brain than I could, I deferred to his judgement.”

“That was big of you.” she noted, though she was only half sarcastic, and he knew that meant he was being forgiven.

“Are you still angry we left you behind?”

“Yes.” she glared at him, but he just smiled, throwing her completely off guard. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded, and his smile just widened.

“Amelia Pond, are you flustered?” her glare darkened, but he knew it wasn't his imagination that had her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Don't be stupid. Why would I be flustered? I'm angry at your stupid face for leaving me behind.” she glared again, but it was only half-hearted since he was still holding her in his arms, smiling at her. “If you don't stop looking at me like that I'm going to think you're planning something else foolish.” she told him, and he laughed.

“The only thing I'm planning is to keep you with me for a long, long time.” he said easily, surprising her by the words, and though he was slightly surprised he'd said them as well, he was glad the words were able to pass so freely from his lips.

“Is that so.” she muttered, but she no longer looked angry, and for that he was grateful.

“Indeed.” then he remembered why he was putting in so much effort to appear cheerful. “But I think, if you were to forgive him as well, the Doctor was hoping you'd travel with him, again.” she met his gaze and recognized the worry behind the smile, that frantic edge behind how he held her. The reason they'd left her behind was becoming all the more clear. It had more to do with discussing what she would choose than what would happen to Moriarty. With a sigh she wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“I love travelling with the Doctor.” she said, and Sherlock felt his mind begin to spin. Was she about to leave when he'd just finally managed to get her back? “But I won't go unless you come with me.” Both Sherlock and the Doctor had predicted she might say this, but Sherlock found himself shaking his head.

“I live here. In a world where science rules, where I can deduce everything about anyone or anything. The Doctor's world in comparison is one of magic I can make no sense of. I belong here. But you-”

Amelia covered his mouth with her hand before he could say anything more, and he blinked in surprise at the annoyed expression on her face.

“If you think for one second I'll let you decide where I belong, you've got another thing coming, Sherlock.” her eyes locked with his, green eyes fierce. “I love hearing about all of your adventures and getting to tag along from time to time, just as I love doing the same with the Doctor. The two of you thought you could make me choose? Well then you were both being stupid. I won't choose. Why should I have to? Why can't I have both? You've got your work and John, why can't I have time travel and the Doctor?” she'd removed her hand from his face so he could answer, but he was regarding her skeptically.

“You are comparing the Doctor to John?” he asked, and she lifted a brow.

“Something wrong with that?”

He shook his head, since he could think of no relevant objection, but still he frowned. She gripped his hand, and this time her smile was bright and guileless.

“One adventure. Come on one adventure with us. We'll be back in a jiffy and you'll undoubtedly be able to say you helped save some species or planet of some sort.”

Sherlock felt the wry smile spread across his lips as the Doctor's footsteps echoed up the stairs to the flat.

“Is that what draws you to it? The thrill of saving people?”

She laughed and tugged him towards the door, knowing she'd won.

“Sometimes all we do is save ourselves. That's fairly satisfying as well.”

He laughed this time, and they left the bedroom, finding the Doctor waiting impatiently in the living room.

“Ah, Amy. Right. Well I received a message. Seems urgent. What do you say?” he had that grin that said he knew it was going to be an exciting adventure, and Amy turned to look at Sherlock.

“What do you say?”

He sighed, grabbing his coat and scarf from the hook.

“Just the once.”

Thrilled, Amy was clapping her hands like a child, but Sherlock couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed. Though they'd just been through an ordeal, they'd already moved on to the next adventure. He looked at the Doctor and Amelia, seeing the bond they clearly shared, and for a moment wondered if he should send her on her own, but then she looked at him, grin spread across her face and grabbed his hand. No, if he could share her excitement, he wouldn't miss it for the world.

“John, we're going out. Don't wait up.” he called up the stairs, earning a giggle from Amy and an amused chuckle from the Doctor.

Together they rushed aboard the TARDIS, and Amy was immediately running to the console as if she belonged there.

“So what was this message about?” she asked, grin still in place, and Sherlock gave a sigh as he moved to stand beside her.

“Really, Amelia, it should be quite obvious. It's a message from River, why else would he be in such a hurry?”

Amy laughed, eyes sparkling as the Doctor muttered something in embarrassment, and without even thinking, linked her fingers with Sherlocks. Yes, he would go on this adventure with her, because he realized it didn't matter if it was on earth or on whatever other planet the Doctor took them to. As long as he was with Amelia, he was sure to find adventure and excitement, and as long as he was with her, he knew he'd never lose that warm feeling that filled him and chased away the cold darkness just by having her there. He wondered briefly if this was what they called love, and though he knew that it was just a chemical imbalance in the brain, he didn't care. What he felt when he looked at her couldn't be measured by science whether he wanted to be able to or not, and for once, he was alright with that. Sherlock looked over at the Doctor, putting the customary look of boredom on his face as he was sure it would annoy the Doctor and in turn amuse himself.

“So Doctor, where does River have you chasing her to this time?”

 


End file.
